


Nox Aeternus

by shotgunsinlace



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire/Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Torture, Mentions of Dubcon, PTSD, Reincarnation, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[DISCONTINUED] Born from alchemy and deception, Eren is an orphan with a fearsome power capable of tipping a millennia long war in humankind’s favor. After a lifetime of living within the walls of St. Chlorba’s Academy for the Gifted, he must find his place within a life he never asked for: one plagued by blood drenched nightmares and boundless rage. Recruited into an elite military organization, Eren discovers that not all monsters have jagged teeth and wicked claws – and that the guardian without a beating heart isn’t as heartless as he may seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amor Matris

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the cliche vampire!AU absolutely nobody asked for but I ventured into writing anyways. A song called Dreamcatcher by Secret Garden was to blame for this prologue, and then the ball just kept on rolling. Plenty of other characters as well as other ships will be popping up as the story progresses, and so I'll be updating the tags as they make their appearance.

Moonlight paints the surface of Maria’s red rooftops when all but one soul sleep on that stagnant night. Neither the pitter-patter of rain over cobblestone streets nor the tolling church bells in the far distance offer any sense of peace.

The garbled coo of a toddler interrupts the otherwise still night, stirring a loving hush from the mother hovering over its crib. Long fingers comb away stray locks of dark hair that fall into too-big pools of green, and caress their way down plump and rosy cheeks. Soft fingertips adjust the blanket’s lace trimming, keeping the rough fabric away from fragile skin to avoid any form of chafing.

“Hush now, little one,” the mother whispers.

She pulls away from the crib and moves towards the lone bedroom window, her dress rustling faintly against the worn carpet. 

Shutting the curtains, tattered and dusty with age, she bids the moon goodnight. Her son doesn’t need its light to find his way in this bitter and unfair world filled with demons and ghouls. He’ll become his own monster, his own demon, and he’ll eventually learn to conquer them all. He’ll grow up to devour the shadows of his erased past, and wield his curse for the sake of humankind.

_Hero_ is too big a word for the soft bundle nestled among satin and silk that isn’t his own. _Savior_ is too blasphemous for a child born from alchemy and deceit. He’s but an infant, fragile and defenseless despite the terror that lies just underneath tender skin, waiting to be awakened when the time comes.

At times she wonders if keeping him had been the correct choice. Placing the weight of a decaying world upon such frail shoulders is a crime no parent could ever think to commit, and yet… Her own selfishness has brought her here. The desperate need to bear and hold a child in her arms at any cost has led her to her own ruin.

A rap on the door makes her turn away from the crib with a mournful sigh.

Assured that the child’s asleep, adjusting the sheets around him one last time, she walks to the door and opens it a crack.

On the other side, in the darkness of the corridor, stand three individuals: two who wear clerical clothing and a man who sports robes fit for royalty. A brooch in the shape of a crow holds his cloak in place.

“My lords,” she says, softly, as to not wake the little one.

The door is pushed open, and she is shoved aside as the men enter.

She feels minuscule in their presence. The rags around her body barely pass as a dress when compared to their superior cuts. At that moment even her house feels like a wooden crate meant to shelter stray rats, rather than the warm home it’s been these past four years. For the first time, she truly wishes her husband were home to see their child off.

“Is this the specimen?” asks one of the men wearing clerical robes as he peers into the crib. His face is gaunt, and his gray hair is thinning.

“Eren,” she says, hands clasped in front of her chest as if offering one final prayer. “His name is Eren.”

She says little else as the child is collected, knowing well that no words can stop them. It’s time for her and her husband to atone for their sin.

The church men leave immediately, whatever books and papers they’ve found across the nursery in their grasp. They don’t spare her a look, no words of sympathy, but the last of the three does. With the toddler now wrapped in gorgeous velvet, the man with the raven at his throat offers her an apologetic smile.

“I am truly sorry, madam,” he says, looking from her to the child still fast asleep in his arms. “But you have my word that no harm will come to him.” Imposing appearance aside, the man’s blue eyes shine with something akin to compassion. “Someday you’ll be able to see him again.”

The woman hides a sob behind her hand as the man walks away with her child in his arms. Heaven knows how that will happen, or when, but all she can do is trust the words of a stranger. Perhaps, wherever it is that they’re taking him, Eren will lead a better life than the one she and her husband could ever give him. Maybe the men of science will grant a defenseless child a warm bed to sleep in, and healthy food to sustain him and help him grow into a fitting young man.

All she can do is hope.

All she can hope for is for the monster inside her son to not awaken and bring forth Judgment Day, and instead defeat the creatures crawling just outside the walls.


	2. Esurio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren shouldn't feel comfort when confronted with those inhumanely cold eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this isn't yet another asylum AU, so bear with me. This chapter's brought to you by the song "St. John" by We Are the Fallen and I think I may have to refurbish the 8tracks playlist for this fic for reader consumption. Also, I'll point out that there's brief talk of attempted suicide in this chapter, so those of you who may become triggered, proceed with caution.

To the thoughtless and clueless world outside, St. Chlorba is an academy for gifted children, those whose gifts are defined by the wealth and the weight behind their family name.

The prestige of St. Chlorba has been an irrefutable fact since the academy opened its doors over fifty years ago. With impenetrable towers, Rose’s most elite guards, stone walls and highly trained medical personnel, it very well resembles a tightly run hospital for the criminally insane.

The truth of the matter rests within the fact that that is exactly what it is.

Eren knows little of the outside world, having lived within four walls most of his life, with only a key to his name and new bed sheets that arrive once a year. He doesn’t long to see it one bit – something he’s truly grateful for, considering the stories he’s been told – but at times he does get bit by curiosity. The tales of monsters and bad people have kept him awake at night on more than one occasion, and it’s enough to dampen any stray thought on wanting to leave. Here, he’s safe, comfortable, and has everything he needs.

His daily routine leaves nothing to be desired. It begins with a breakfast that is rich and healthy: oatmeal, day-old bread and a cup of water. Class soon follows, however limited a resource that is, and here he learns a more official story regarding life outside of the academy walls. He’s taught about politics, the king, religion, art, and even how to count. His scores are never too great, considering no teacher ever took the time to show him how to read or write, but day after day he’s reminded that things like these don’t really matter, not if he continues to behave himself and follow nurses orders.

Afterwards, he’s granted free time he can spend with the other students. The others never stay for long, and all attempts to ask why this is get him chastised, so he’s learned not to. He simply takes joy in these breaks, makes friends and swaps books. Each year he gets a fresh batch from some unknown person, and each time he exchanges them for ones that have actual images rather than words alone. This way he can keep himself entertained once he’s returned to his room, imagining stories to go along with them.

Eren is also grateful for his nurses. Most of them are kind, with gentle hands that guide him into the physician’s office every other month. This he also has no idea why it’s done, but if he behaves himself, he’s granted a biscuit.

Unfortunately, he rarely behaves during his checkup.

As the years progress, the nurses grow kinder while the physician grows crueler. By the age of fifteen, Eren is treated more like a beast than a young man. His wrists become bound to wooden tables as needles pierce his skin over and over again, and he thrashes about in pain when scalpels are used to push the skin on his head aside. One time, he could have sworn his brains had been scrambled.

His friends come and go, but Eren always remains.

It’s when he’s older, on his eighteenth birthday, sitting on his bedroom floor with a cake over his lap, that he notices what has truly been his entire life. St. Chlorba isn’t an academy for the gifted, as he’s always been led to believe, but an asylum. Eren’s been a patient for as long as he can remember.

_But, why?_

He isn’t ill, and he most certainly isn’t mad. There is positively nothing wrong with him. He’s a normal young man who is only just realizing that he’s never had a true home, or a family, or something to call his own. Eren is but a specter with no past and no evident future. He does, however, have one thread that may give him the answers the nurses continue to rob him of.

Across from his room – or cell, as he’s taken to calling it as of late – is a boy named Armin. Of all passing patients, he has been here the longest after Eren. He’s a favorite among the nurses, always so well-behaved and properly educated, and a lot more polite than Eren can ever hope to be. All of it is rather useless, he finds, because Armin is far too shy to do much of anything. Only speaks when spoken to, never looks anyone in the eye. Eren hopes Armin will stay with him for a very long time, mostly because he’s too frail and weak to be able to face such a scary world by himself.

Armin can also read, which makes him fun to be with, and he’s also sharp when it comes to understanding adult speak. He was the one who had told him about the man who comes to visit every year.

Setting his plate aside, Eren crawls across the stone floor and settles beside his door, ear pressed to the iron slab. It’s almost time for all candles to be blown out, but tonight won’t be a night in which he’ll be able to have a talk with Armin. Down the hall, he can hear the incessant screaming of another patient. A loud crash soon follows, and then a flurry of voices and more screaming. From the opposite direction, Eren catches the sound of crying.

The place seems restless tonight.

With a sigh, he sets his head back against the cold stone wall. He wants to ask Armin to describe the man again, in hopes that some sort of memory or dream will give him a name. It’s useless and he knows it. He’s never been outside of St. Chlorba; how can he possibly know anyone from there? There are moments when Eren fantasizes about the man being his father who has come to get him out of this lifeless place. Then there are times when Eren yells himself hoarse from rage and has to be restrained, when he wishes for this man to remain a complete stranger. A kind one. Eren doesn’t want to know a thing about his father – whoever he may be. He wishes he could say the same about his mother, but the childhood robbed from him weeps at her absence.

The girl screams louder, making the shrill noise tickle the inside of Eren’s ears. He clasps his hands over them to block her out, and his eyes begin to sting with the beginning of unshed tears. There’ll be no sleeping tonight and he knows it. She’s most likely a new arrival.

Nights like these he spends them lost in a haze of what-ifs and maybes. He thinks about the walls that protect their city, and about the wraiths that linger just outside of them, waiting to devour human souls. Eren thinks about the different kinds of food he never knew existed until Armin told him about them. Apparently, the oatmeal and bread he’s found delicious throughout his life tastes ‘stale, putrid and positively inedible’. He had offered to eat Armin’s helping if he was so against it.

Lastly, Eren thinks about the stranger who, according to Armin, is far more handsome than any person within the hospital.

_‘He has yellow hair, and… and… blue eyes.’_

_‘Like you?’_

_‘Kind of? I guess. Only, he’s really tall and exceptionally dashing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was royalty.’_

_‘Why would royalty come to see me?’_

The man, it seems, is the one who brings him books and clothing each time he visits. They both have their theories, but mostly it’s Armin who will come up with the more complicated yet believable ones. It gives them both the distraction they need during longer and eventless days.

Cold sweat forms on Eren’s temples, and he only realizes it when his hands begin to shake where he has them placed over his thighs. He sits up, looking at them with a frown. It’s a restless night after all, judging by how ill he suddenly feels. An unpleasant tug in his stomach makes him squirm on the floor, and as if on cue, his head begins to throb.

It’s of no surprise if he’s come down with a bug after his last visit to the physician a few days ago. The person prior to him had been diagnosed with influenza, and the one before them had been placed in observation due to dysentery. Taking into consideration his life so far, it would only be appropriate for him to come of age with some sort of sickness rendering him useless for several days. With luck, it’s his cake which has been poisoned and his time has begun to run out.

Eren can already hear Armin reprimanding him for the thought.

The last time he had attempted against his own life, he had gotten his privileges taken away. The chain which his key hung from had left nasty marks around his neck after he tried choking himself with it. Both things were taken from him shortly after, and he had been placed within a snug jacket, both arms tied behind his back to prevent anymore mishaps.

It’s not that he wants to die, exactly. He’s simply grown bored of this hell that is his home. The safety and peace of mind it had given him while growing up has turned sour and dull, and the lack of a visible way out nearly drowned him. Death would have been easier to swallow than the agonizing visits to the physician’s down below – it had been a win or win situation.

The jab of pain in Eren’s chest leaves him breathless as it jerks him onto his knees. He hacks up dry, one hand now clutching at his chest while the other supports him against the floor. Liquid fire twists and thrashes inside of him, spilling painful tears and drawing weak moans.

The burn eases, only to come back far stronger.

Eren gasps, eyes wide when something inside his ears pop, something hot gushing out of them. He can’t reach up and touch, see what it is, because another sickening blow in his stomach startles him into crying out. He wheezes, coughs up whatever bit of cake he had eaten.

Along his legs crawl thousands of ants, each one biting down into his skin and injecting him with their hellish poison. Up his arms he feels millions of wasps sinking their stingers into him. There’s nothing but fire, fire, _fire_ and he’s _burning_ from the inside out and there’s no way to stop it. He’ll be left with nothing but charred bones if it doesn’t stop – but it won’t stop. It absolutely refuses to.

The crack and snap of bones sends waves of panic through him, forcing him to hold still amidst the chaos erupting in his head. He thinks immobility will soothe the burn and ease the pain, but it’s all for naught when another even stronger pang of sheer infernal agony rips through every single stitch of his flesh.

Absolute wrath floods his despair. Unfathomable ferocity makes him dig his fingernails into the stone floor until he draws blood.

Silence consumes when the first notes of a wordless song reaches past his wails, breaking his mind and dipping it into an eerie kind of blankness that offers respite for a steep price. It’s only a hum, smooth and rich, yet spectacularly bored. It feels like cool water after a sleepless and long night. The tune lilts into something haunting, lulling, and for a horrifying second the world stops its collective breathing to simply listen.

Eren can hear intricately woven stories of lives past, of blood and gore and loves long forsaken. Sadistic glee decorates an otherwise monotone drone. Smoke rolling over crushed glass and rose petals; clouds falling to the sea in the dead of night. All of these are images Eren can see within his mind’s eye, things he can feel. There’s solace here, a promise, and a curse.

There is also hunger.

He _hungers_.

His jaw flexes with fearsome strength, grasping for anything it can reach without his consent. It terrifies him, but not as much as the song within his mind. The more he listens, the more he fears it truly isn’t there, that the silence within the ward is simply his imagination seeking relief.

But the creak and groan of metal is far too real to write off as his mind playing dirty tricks.

Still on his knees, forehead pressed to the cold floor with his nails scrambling to anchor in this reality, Eren lets out a yell that shakes his very bones. A faint scent stirs the ferocious clawing in his stomach, its sweetness awakening the overwhelming hunger once more. The humming has stopped, and a cool breeze alerts him that his cell door has been opened.

With plenty effort, Eren turns his head on its side to steal a look.

There isn’t much to see in the dark room and equally dark hallway. Only a single candle illuminates the person’s face, casting angular shadows against milky slopes and sharp cheekbones. Dark hair and, perhaps it’s just the candle’s reflection, but he can swear those are red eyes that stare at him with a hint of muted surprise.

The hunger subsides, but it leaves behind a trail of bitterness and devastating resentment that somehow has nothing to do with him.

Eren’s labored breathing sounds loud in the resounding quiet when he tries to stand. Not finding the strength to do so, he opts to kneeling, sitting back on his haunches as he stares at the silhouette at his door. It’s hard to decipher who they are, or even what they are. For a moment Eren is reminded of the supposed monsters outside the walls. This being standing before him has enough presence to steal souls with a single look.

“Jaeger,” is the first thing they say, _he_ says, and Eren is forced to squint. It doesn’t sound like he’s calling someone, the word too quiet to gather any kind of attention. It sounds more like a prayer.

The tuneless hum returns then, setting his hairs on end when he notices it coming from the stranger. There’s no song after all, no actual humming, but there’s a distinct vibration he emanates just by standing there. It’s maddening, Eren concludes, immediately flinching backwards when the man steps inside his cell.

He sneers at the surroundings, looking positively disgusted as he mutters something Eren doesn’t catch, as he’s too busy trying to piece together what is going on. This isn’t the man Armin told him about. He isn’t a physician or a guard, and his clothing speaks of extraordinary wealth.

“Who the hell are you?” Eren spits out without much thought. His anger speaks for him, and the lack of a source unsettles him. He feels lied to. Forgotten.

The man finally looks down at him as he steps closer, slanted eyes no longer looking red once the lighting changes. He does, however, look bizarrely dangerous in an elegant kind of fashion. “That’s none of your concern at the moment,” he says, nudging the tip of his shoe against Eren’s knee. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

Eren recoils as if stung by the touch. Sure, he’s unused to contact, such a thing being limited within the hospital, but this is different. This felt cold, and sharp, like lightning striking earth. The feeling incites fear in his heart, as well as trepidation. The sense of immediate danger urges him to run.

“What do you mean? I can’t… Why would I even…?”

“We don’t have time for stupid questions. Get up, now, or you’re staying in here until the day you die in a puddle of your own piss.”

Eren gapes at the harsh words, wrapping his arms around himself. With no guards charging in at the intrusion, or no yelling from the other patients to alert the presence of an intruder, the inkling that something has gone very wrong makes him feel sicker than before.

“I-I’ll take my chances,” Eren says, trying to act bravely despite being on his knees.

A shocked gasp is ripped out of him when a hand lands on his head, gripping a good tuft of hair and using it to yank him to the side. Eren nearly topples over, eyes wide, their corners filled with tears inspired by pain. He tries to move away, but the fist only tightens mercilessly, forcing him to look up at the man.

“I don’t believe that was a request, brat.”

“Let me go.”

“I don’t like repeating myself—”

“ _Now!_ ” Eren shouts, gathering his courage to do so. He bears his teeth, but not in any attempt to intimidate – it happens naturally, automatically. These past few minutes have seemed bizarre in the prospect that he’s had a very small amount of control of his own functions.

When the man remains silent, Eren counts it as a small victory, and when the fist on his hair loosens, he slumps in relief. Only, the relief is very short-lived.

A knee slams into his cheek and Eren feels his jaw go slack when heat bursts in his face. A foot to the gut makes him double over, before another knee to the nose makes him look up, dazed and vacant. Pain doesn’t register just yet, the shock of the sudden attack rendering him numb as he’s thrown around as if he were a ragdoll.

Eren gasps when harsh fingers tangle in his hair again, pulling hard. That’s when all the pain comes rushing in at once. He whimpers, because he can’t feel more than half of his face despite the hot trickle of blood sliding down his nose. The dark room blurs around him, the floor warps and spins and the only thing keeping him up is the cruel grip against his scalp.

Wariness caves into another bout of animalistic rage.

He lashes out, hands intent on ripping the stranger to shreds, teeth seeking to break flesh and bone as red blinds him. Eren growls out something unintelligible, but before he could even move, a kick to the chest sends him flying across the room.

The force of it terrifies him. Everything about this is unreal, nightmarish, and impossible. Ragged breathing hurts his chest, and he’s ready to bet that there are a handful of broken ribs where the foot had made contact. His reaction to the assault is unbelievable, and so is the fact that he’s still holding on to consciousness by a thread.

Eren’s brought up to his feet by a hand to his neck, tight enough to choke. He goes with it, allowing himself to be manhandled if it means stopping the physical abuse. He’s exhausted, and the return of the calming hum invites him to sleep, silences the need to destroy and devour that leaves him reeling.

Shoved up against the wall, Eren notices how much taller than the man he actually is, but he feels no real need to use his height to his advantage. Something tells him the stranger will still be able to best him without much effort. This man is ruthless.

“Pain is the best way to teach discipline,” the man says. He tightens his grip around Eren’s neck as he steps closer, standing a hair’s breadth away. The candle is long gone, the room pitch-black, but Eren can see the muted red in too-bright irises. “Back talk again and it will be the last thing you do, you revolting cur.”

A frightened litany of _he isn’t human_ goes off in Eren’s mind as he begins to struggle, the hand around his neck finally releasing him, but still holding him against the wall as it slides downward to rest at the middle of his chest. His cold gaze scours Eren’s face for something, moving from his eyes to his nose, to his mouth, then back to his eyes. The blank look sets off a cold shiver down Eren’s spine.

He opens his mouth to do just that – back talk – but the curious sensation of cold skin pressed to his own bruised flesh stuns him into silence. The tip of a nose presses to the junction of neck and jawbone, a soft inhale making Eren’s eyes grow wide. The feel of something sharp against his skin reminds him of the dozens of needles that have broken through, causing him to flinch away. He doesn’t wish to upset this being further, but he will fight if it means getting him to stop this madness.

Luckily, the man pulls away with a scowl. Eren notices him look briefly over his shoulder before stepping away.

“Five days,” he says, turning neatly on his heels and heading for the door. “Rest assured you won’t be inclined to refuse us again.” He stops, placing a hand over the dented door frame. “You may want to clean yourself up before they get here.”

Eren leans heavily against the wall, his hand cradling his aching jaw. His face is drenched in blood, making the ill feeling in his gut worsen the more he thinks about it. He’s ready to ask once more: who the man is, who ‘us’ entails, where do they want to take him – but the sound of rushing footsteps in the distance stops him. Someone’s finally coming to see what’s going on and they’ll find Eren standing here, drenched in his own blood… and no other person in sight.

The man is gone, the scent, hum and fear gone with him. All that’s left is the lingering sense of foreboding and dread of what the guards will think upon seeing him. There is no time to clean up, there’s nothing to even wipe his face with, and so he stays there with shaking knees and the desperate urge to cry. They’ll think he did this to himself. They’ll put him in the jacket once more.

Sighing shakily, Eren plants his feet firmly on the ground and waits. Hands fisted by his sides, he steels himself for the whirl of activity about to burst in through his mangled door. And despite the guards and nurses now spilling in, taking hold of his arms and brutally pulling him outside, Eren’s mind wanders off to dreams that host warm blankets and gentle words.

Instead of dark corridors and steep steps, Eren imagines green hilltops. Rather than the smell of bile, he inhales the smell of lilies and freshly baked bread. The cold table against his back is exchanged for a fluffy rug beside a fire to warm his bones. Leather handcuffs are bracelets made of flower petals. And the needle in his neck is nothing but the press of a nose, the top of a stranger’s mouth ready to steal a kiss.

Eyes like metal, eyes like fire – Eren lingers on them, on how their coldness could perhaps ease the stinging heat now enveloping his body due to foreign liquids being injected into him. Everything about the stranger had been cold: his voice, his stare, and his violent touch, but even those quenched the desperation he feels right now. There had been a twisted sense of safety in that cruelty. There had been a familiarity Eren wishes he could forget.

“Tell me what happened.” The physician’s voice does little to pull him away from his dreams. “How did you do this?”

“Nothing in his room could have caused this sort of damage, sir,” says one of the nurses, dabbing a cloth to Eren’s split lip. “He couldn’t have done it himself.”

Another sting registers behind his right calf, but he still refuses to open his eyes. Gloved hands grab his bare feet, twisting it in various directions before letting it fall back on the table. “It’s possible, and very likely.”

“But, sir…”

“Answer me, boy. Did it hurt?” Eren opens his eyes then, looking up at the man hovering over him with a scalpel in hand. Of course it hurt, what kind of a question is that? He’s bloodied, bruised, with cuts decorating his palms. “Your nails didn’t fall off as I expected.”

If not for the belts binding him, Eren would have sat up. Nails?

“I assume you didn’t fully transform. The time frame is far too short for you to have reverted already.”

Confused, Eren tries to ask what he’s talking about, but a rag is promptly shoved into his mouth. He can only watch as more candles are brought in, along with more people, higher-ups, with their tall hats and fancy walking sticks. 

Mortification sets in when his clothing is unceremoniously cut off his body.

“Gentleman,” the physician begins, rubbing his hands together. “It would seem that my speculations have been correct after all.” A chorus of interested chatter heightens Eren’s breathing. “Tonight, a full-moon, our most recent specimen has attempted to turn.” Before anyone could say a thing, the physician lifts a hand. “The attempt may have failed, but it is only its first time doing so. Please keep that in mind.”

The ache in Eren’s chest returns, and this time he’s reluctant to learn if it is because of the injections, or the horror. Nothing the man says makes any kind of sense, but a sickening thought manifests within the recesses of his mind. The pain, the burning, the hunger, along with all of the sensations of burning back in his cell suddenly click together into a gruesome picture.

A nurse looks down at him with a sympathetic frown as she places a piece of cloth over his eyes. “It’s probably best you don’t watch, Eren. It will all be over soon.”

He tries to cry out, to move, kick, anything, but he’s been successfully immobilized, blinded to the world around him.

All Eren can do is listen.

Listen, and _feel_ – not only the blade carving at skin, hair, nails, but the wicked and clinical stares of these faceless men, their judgment regarding this apparent sickness. Their disgust and contempt for this hopeless orphan is tangible inside a room lit only by candles and a full moon.

_You’re staying in here until the day you die in a puddle of your own piss._

In a life devoid of tenderness and affection, knowing only pain, suffering and loneliness, Eren would welcome even the most shameful death at this very moment, if it meant stopping the pain.

However…

_I don’t want to die inside these walls without knowing what’s out there._

He’s been offered an escape. Dangerous it may be, but anything is better than this hell he continues to be subjected to time after time.

“I must ask of you to step back, please. Thank you. It may react violently, and although the restraints are properly secure, I cannot guarantee that it won’t bite.” The murmuring subsides. “As inconclusive as our results have been, it is highly likely for lycanthropy to be contagious.”

Lycanthropy? Maybe Armin will know, he thinks when the word fails to match a meaning. But it would seem that the physician isn’t as sadistic in nature as Eren had expected. Maybe it’s been hours, or perhaps mere minutes, but not soon enough does his consciousness begin to fade.

When he comes to again, Eren is sitting in his room with nothing but a tattered blanket draped over flimsy shoulders. He runs a hand through his hair and finds nothing there, for the exception of a coin-sized indentation on the bottom left side of his skull. A trail of stitches makes its way from armpit to hip. He can’t open his left eye.

His body lacks the ability to feel anything: not the coldness of the stone floor, nor the hollowness of despair – there is no sadness left inside of him, no hope.

With the knowledge of him being nothing but a monster, Eren cries.

❖

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” Armin asks, bumping their knees together.

Eren blinks up from staring at his hands, and instead chooses to focus on the altar ahead of him.

Pastor Nick is in for his monthly visit, rambling on and on about the sacred walls and how god has a plan for all of them. After a lifetime of listening to the same sermon, he’s finally grown tired of hearing it. Unless the higher powers give him a reason to open his eyes and face another day, Eren won’t spare them the time of day.

Not even the Mother, with her blue robes and battered eyes, stirs an inkling of reverence in him.

Pastor Nick asks them all to bow their head in prayer.

“Later,” Eren whispers to Armin, who’s sitting by his side on a chapel pew. “Last thing I want to do is get into more trouble than I already am.”

Armin raises his eyebrows but nods in understanding. He straightens up his back and bows his head, hands clasped over his lap. Eren’s sure he isn’t praying either, but it’s probably best to pretend anyways.

“We’re getting out of here,” he hears himself say, so softly he imagines if he even said it at all, but through a curtain of blonde hair, Armin is staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “You can’t win if you don’t fight.”


	3. Detorqueo

“You want to escape?” Armin blurts out the moment they settle down in the dining hall, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

Sunlight decorates the floors and tables as it shines through the stained glass windows, leaving the room colorful and lively despite its permanent gloomy aura. Not many of the patients have joined in yet, most of them having stayed at the chapel for the second service. Luckily, early breakfast means bigger helpings, something Armin doesn’t look too happy about.

“You should eat it, even if you don’t like it,” Eren says, stirring his oatmeal with a broken spoon.

“Don’t change the subject.” Grimacing, Armin breaks off a piece of his bread and dabs it over a mound of cheese. “I heard what you said, Eren. Why would you even think about that?”

“Why? You’re the one that’s always talking about the outside world. How could we go outside the walls if we can’t even get out of this place?”

“We can just wait to be discharged, properly. If we get out now, we’ll only become fugitives of the law. What then? We’d be thrown in jail for the rest of our lives.”

Eren considers it, but no jail could be worse than this abysmal place. Besides, he doubts the authorities would risk locking him up in just any cell. The worst scenario includes him getting dragged back here, and even that no longer scares him as it should. After the hell Eren had been put through four nights ago, he reckons nothing will ever be as terrible. Getting caught is a chance he’s willing to take, if it means a chance at freedom, however slim.

“I don’t care,” he says, looking up to find Armin staring at him with concern. He looks away again, focusing on his breakfast. “Obviously, I can’t force you to come with me. It’s your life after all, and I can’t risk you throwing it away just because—”

Armin shakes his head before Eren can finish. “You need someone to keep you in check,” he says, trying to smile while taking a sip of water. “Not like I’ll be getting out of here anytime soon.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t know why I’m in here to begin with,” he says. Looking about sick with his food, Armin places the last of his bread on Eren’s plate. “We aren’t here because we’re special.”

It’s a conversation they’ve had plenty of times before. Eren feels like he should resent Armin for shedding light on the subject, but deep down, he understands that it’s absolutely necessary to understand these sorts of thing. He may not have the reason why just yet, but maybe sometime in the future.

“About that,” Eren begins, thinking on the procedure done on him that night. “Maybe special isn’t the right word, but I think I know why I’m here.” This peaks Armin’s interest. “I’m not really sure, though. Nothing was really cleared up, but, I think, probably…”

“Are you ill?”

Eren shakes his head, and then nods, but ultimately ends up shaking it again. “I’m not really sure. I don’t think I’m… normal, but I’m not sure if it’s a sickness.”

Pushing his plate away, Armin leans over the table with his elbows close to his body. His blue eyes are wide with curious wonder and a hint of unease, and Eren can’t blame him. “Eren?”

“Haven’t you noticed anything strange?” Being under such intense scrutiny makes him nervous, so he tries to make himself smaller in his seat. “Over the past few days, I mean.”

Armin’s expression is somber when he nods. “Everyone has.”

Sighing, Eren drops his head into his hands. “And you didn’t point it out?”

“I wasn’t sure how to approach it. Clearly you weren’t talking about that night… you weren’t talking at all, but… it’s impossible…”

“I healed,” Eren mutters. “I healed like it was… as if…” Taking a deep breath, Eren grunts with frustration. “You didn’t even see how bad I was when they brought me back from the cellar. Hell, half my head was missing.” At Armin’s incredulous look he reassures him, “I’m not exaggerating.”

Once morning had come, allowing Eren to verify the damage, he had found three missing nails, plucked teeth, a litany of holes across his body and missing hair. He had been left a mangled mess, no better than a stray dog that is frequently beat on the streets. By dinner time, he had a full head of surprisingly smooth hair. The following day, the cuts and bruises decorating the entirety of his face had gone.

Somehow he had hoped no one would notice, but of course Armin did, being the perceptive person he is. One just doesn’t heal this quickly, even with the best medical professionals at hand.

“What exactly did they do to you down there?” The curiosity melts away into genuine concern. “Did they beat you for yelling?”

“Yelling?”

Armin nods his head. “I assumed it was because of that? The entire place heard you. You sounded… _possessed_ , and then you just… you stopped.” Sitting back again, he shuts his eyes. “That night was really strange, though. Everything felt so odd.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Did you hear it?”

Eren raises his eyebrows and fidgets in his seat. He doesn’t have to ask what Armin means, because he knows full well what he’s referring to. “The humming?”

“The entire hospital heard it, even the doctors in the higher levels.”

“Did they ever find out what it was?” Eren asks, thinking back to the stranger who had casually walked into his room. Lack of substantial evidence aside, Eren is willing to bet his life that that man had been the source of it.

“Not that I know of.” Armin becomes quiet for a moment, and the way his eyes move from side to side let’s Eren know he’s trying to connect the dots. “Was that the reason you were yelling? Did the noise bother you? The pitch was low enough to make anyone go crazy – _not_ that I’m c-calling you crazy, or anything.”

Eren waves him off. He pushes his own plate away once he’s noticed the oatmeal has gone cold. “I think it helped calm me,” he confesses. Try as he may, he can’t get the feeling of coldness against his too-hot skin out of his head.

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“It proves the theory that its intention was to pacify rather than excite. Once it started, the hospital became eerily quiet. Even the new patient settled down.”

Eren remembers that, too. “Hey, Armin, do you think a person could’ve been able to make that sort of sound?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, making the sound itself is easy enough but the magnitude was far too great. It reached too far.” There’s a beat of silence before he continues. “Why do you ask?”

An unnatural healing rate will probably be the least weird thing at the moment. “Someone came to see me that night.”

“Was it him?!”

Rolling his eyes at the outburst, Eren shakes his head. “Unless he shrunk and changed his hair color, somehow, no, it definitely wasn’t him.” Truth be told, Eren hadn’t even thought about the mysterious blonde man since the night of the incident. His mind has been too busy being plagued by thoughts of raven hair and stoic eyes. “But… I think that might have been his fault.”

“Two people,” Armin says, now curling a stray lock of his hair around his finger. “How was he dressed?”

“Nicely.”

The sound of a crash makes the two of them look up, and Eren can see the cook yelling at a poor boy for having dropped his plate. A nurse intervenes before tears could be spilled.

“I’m going to presume they know each other,” Armin says.

“I think the nurses are familiar with everyone here.”

“Not her, Eren. I mean, the two gentlemen who seem to have some sort of interest or connection with you.”

“Oh.”

“Actually, I’m starting to think that this is all connected,” he continues, tapping his fingers against the table. It takes Eren a moment to realize that the beat isn’t random at all, that Armin is actually writing out his thoughts over the table with only his finger. “The man who hums and the man who watches over you. Let’s add the night you were brought to the cellar for whatever reason or another. You tell me you’re different, and the speed of your healing is something to behold. Something happened down there, and it’s far worse than what I was able to see the morning after. It’s all too much of a coincidence.”

Armin really is brilliant, more so than he leads on. The cynical side of Eren’s head tells him that may be the reason he’s been locked in here. Smart minds may prove inconvenient in the wrong crowds.

“Do you know what lycanthropy is?” Judging by how bugged his eyes turn, Eren guesses that he does. “The physician said—”

“Eren!” Armin hisses, his hand reaching out and squeezing his wrist. The sudden movement startles them both, succeeding in shutting him up. “Lower your voice.” Tone urgent, Eren nods his head and leans in as inconspicuous as possible. “Don’t throw that word around, okay?”

“Why not?” Discreetly, Eren looks around them. The room is still plenty empty, and the nearest patient if a good five tables away. “What’s it mean?”

Nervousness gives way to pensive worry, Armin’s eyes scanning Eren’s face for something he can’t place. He looks more scared than usual, making Eren feel surprisingly ill. Whatever this is, whatever he has, is cause for alarm. He tries not to jump to conclusions, but it’s a difficult task to commit to.

“We shouldn’t talk about it here,” Armin says, pulling himself back.

Nodding in understanding, Eren takes a deep breath. “The chapel should be empty during supper.”

“Are you all right, Eren?”

The question takes him off guard although it shouldn’t, with Armin being the perceptive yet caring person he is. His hand is still wrapped around his wrist, thumb caressing the smooth skin in an attempt to comfort. “Now I am,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“I couldn’t begin to imagine.”

“Yeah.” Closing his eyes, Eren tries his best to keep the memories in check. “You couldn’t even begin to.”

❖

The day drones on uneventfully, boring and slow as Eren thinks and thinks about Armin’s reaction to the word lycanthropy. In the past they’ve caught Thomas stealing food from the nurses’ office, and not even that had caused such a shocked look to take form. Whatever it is must be bad, but a part of Eren is silenced because now he has something to grasp. Now, he knows there’s a reason for him to be here, and maybe that will make his stay easier to handle.

Of course, this triggers a series of new questions he hadn’t considered. Is it lethal? What are the symptoms? It may be contagious, as the physician had mentioned, but how can another person contract it? Not easily, he guesses, if Armin had touched him after having heard the word.

The suspense is eating away at him, even while sitting through his evaluations. Today he paints eyes the color of the sky – stuck between the sunniest day and an oncoming storm – and adds just a hint of crimson. He claims there’s no reason for this piece, knowing it’s unwise while being under strict supervision for unstable behavior. He offers the nurses a sincere smile to ease their apprehension.

Eren spends most of his day alone, given that Armin is currently scrubbing away with cleaning duty. He uses the time to plot their escape, taking into consideration the niches and passageways he’s discovered during his lifetime in this place. It won’t be easy by any means, but it isn’t impossible either. They’ll have to time it perfectly, without hesitation, and without making a peep.

It feels like it takes forever for the clock to reach six in the evening, and Eren finds himself pacing in his cell at a quarter to the hour. The halls are still bustling with patients, and he’ll have to wait until they’ve all gone for him to start towards the chapel. Wringing his hands, he sits on his cot. He’s aware that Armin hasn’t agreed to leave tonight, but a jittery feeling tells him they need to. If they have a chance, he’ll do it, with or without Armin.

At the sound of the bell, Eren waits, tucked in his bed and faking sleep. He waits until the voices have faded, footsteps far down the hall, and candlelight gone. It’s dark, but he’ll be able to make his way to the chapel with little obstructions.

Heart racing, he slinks out into the hallway. 

Careful to keep his breathing under control, Eren slips past dark corners and even darker sets of stairs. He swats away spider webs and nearly knocks over a candelabrum, but so far he’s gone undetected by any of the nurses or teachers. For a moment he regrets skipping out on dinner, after having nearly nothing to eat for breakfast and lunch, but he figures it will be worth it in the end. He has little idea where they’ll get food from, but anything is better than this.

After ascending a staircase to the uppermost floor of the hospital, Eren comes to a stop at the sound of voices. 

Ahead of him is the _Chiaro Sala_ – a hallway which its ceiling and walls are nothing but stained glass depicting infernal battles with heavenly beings. During the day, the rich carpet comes alive in a spectacle of color and brightness, the images moving along with the sun across the sky. It’s one of Eren’s favorite passages to linger in.

The beginning of the Chiaro Sala breaks off into two wings: the chapel and the library. Unfortunately for Eren, the voices are coming from the intersection, so he slips himself into a shadowy corner and tries to shrink into himself until the coast is clear.

“Tonight! You can see it tonight,” someone says, and Eren recognizes the voice as that of the physician’s. “You will not be disappointed.”

“That’s what you said the last time, Verman.” This comes from a woman, one he doesn’t recognize. “We can’t afford these trips for nothing.”

“We appreciate the Legion’s interest in the… subject, but we can assure you, we’ve got it all under control.”

“Heck, we’re not doubting your ability to keep the kid in check, not one bit,” the woman says, mirth decorating her tone. “I’m just here for a general overview of his condition. You know, curiosity killed the cat.”

“ _Its_ condition is fine.” The emphasis makes Eren flinch. He isn’t an animal, or a subject to be poked and prodded at.

There’s a beat of silence, a hum in understanding before the woman continues. “I was informed that ‘it’ had a name, and that it was Eren. Am I right?”

“Last name Jaeger,” says another man, too low for Eren to put a name to.

So that’s it – that man hadn’t been calling for backup, he was addressing _him_. Eren Jaeger. He now has a full name, his own name, but it does nothing to cover up the holes inside of him. No sense of identity comes flooding in, as he had been expecting on some sort of subconscious level.

“Why keep calling him ‘it’?”

“Because,” the physician says, “its only purpose is to sate the scientific community for the time being. Until we’re able to find a more suitable specimen, it will have to do.”

The woman hums again. “No need to make the community sound so cruel. We are humans, after all.”

“Ms. Zoe, you more than anyone must understand the importance of this.”

Zoe sighs, sounding unimpressed by the entire conversation. “Of course. What do you intend on showing me tonight, hm?”

The shuffle of footsteps urges Eren to hold his breath, pushing himself flush against the dark corner until the three individuals walk by him and begin their way down the staircase.

“Its ability to heal is extraordinary. We’ve gone as far as removing parts of its cerebral cortex, as well as creating a ditch around the temporal lobe. Two days – just two days and the bugger responds as if nothing had ever been done.”

“No side-effects?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s amazing! Will you be increasing the magnitude of procedures tonight?”

“Tonight, I’ll attempt to trigger a full transformation,” the physician says with a chuckle. “Maybe then, both the Legion and the Royal Police will be satisfied.”

Zoe clicks her tongue, but laughs anyhow. “There’s no pleasing the King’s cronies and you know it.”

“We’ll just see about that. Perhaps, during tonight’s dissection, we’ll see what truly makes it tick. Just maybe, we’ll finally find the answers to all of our questions.”

“Or gives us plenty more than we already have,” she says. “What exactly does this dissection entail…?”

Eren doesn’t stay long enough to find out. He dashes out just when they are all out of sight, and with his heart about ready to leap out of his mouth, he runs down the left wing towards the chapel.

All previous doubt regarding his escape occurring on such short notice is cast out by the conversation. Heaven knows what they will do to him if he survives tonight; what other unimaginable tortures he’ll have to endure. The word ‘dissection’ reverberates in his mind, making him feel sicker than before.

No hesitation lingers in the back of his mind. He’s getting out tonight, and nothing will stop him.

Eren slows to a brisk walk when the chapel door comes into view, his breathing tight in his chest from both anxiety and exertion. He runs a hand across his face, and leaves it resting over his mouth in order to muffle all sound capable to give him away. Pressing up against the wall, he pushes the chapel door open a tiny bit, and peaks inside. Armin isn’t here yet.

The altar is bathed in darkness, with only a handful of candles still lit from the afternoon mass. Neither the ivory cross that hangs behind the pulpit or the three virgins can be seen too well.

Once he’s certain that no one is inside yet, Eren takes a deep breath and slips in. He crosses himself out of habit while walking between the pews, offering a blessing for Lady Maria, Lady Rose, and Lady Sina. Almost as an afterthought, he claims sanctuary.

Eren chooses the front pew, sitting all the way at the very end of it, in case someone decides to come in. He’s by no means out of sight, but if he hears anyone approach the door, he can just duck under the bench and avoid being seen. 

Inconveniently for him, he isn’t spotted through the main door, but from the altar.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” says a disembodied voice from somewhere in the darkness before him.

He’s on his feet as fast as he can, ready to bolt, but the door shuts itself with a quiet click. 

Turning towards it, nearly knocking down a wrought-iron lectern in the process, Eren sees a man standing guard. His stomach bottoms out when he’s forced to accept being trapped. 

“What’s going on?”

“The powers sent us to bust you out,” says the man at the door. “We’re with the Legion.”

Hand grabbing an unoccupied candleholder, Eren holds it in front of him, ready to wield it as a weapon if the need arose. “What the hell are you talking about? What Legion?”

“Five days ago, one of our commanding officers came to retrieve you. You were uncooperative, so I was told.” The voice chuckles, and it’s a high feminine pitch. “Then again, Rivaille is pretty tactless when it comes to persuasion.”

“His methods usually include talking you down at the point of a sword,” the man chips in, crossing his arms in the most unthreatening way possible.

It takes Eren a moment to catch up with his thoughts, and when he does, he’s unsure of what to make of the situation. However, now he has a name for the nightmare that haunts his restless sleep – Rivaille. “Yeah… I… I kind of noticed that,” he mutters, reminiscing the merciless beating.

“He’s not all bad,” says the woman, finally stepping out of the shadows. She’s small, with chestnut colored hair that reaches her shoulders. “He has his moments.”

Eren refuses to put down the candleholder out of instinct. Something doesn’t feel right. There’s a distinct smell that puts him off, one he can’t pinpoint, but it makes the fine hair at the back of his neck stand on end. These people look and sound harmless, but there is something else bleeding out of their presence alone.

He takes an involuntary step back when he realizes two things: the hum is back, and the smell is far too similar to the one he had picked up on five nights ago. Both things are different, diluted almost, but they are fundamentally the same. Whoever these people are, they’re the same as that man.

“No need to be scared, Eren,” says the woman, hands held up in surrender. “We’re just here to help.”

Eren sneers at that. “The same as that Rivaille person?”

A snort comes from the man at the door. “He really did a number on ya’, didn’t he?”

“Be quiet, Erd. You’re not helping.”

“What does this ‘Legion’ want with me?” Eren asks instead, buying himself some time. Armin should be arriving soon, and he’s smart enough to go get help once he hears the conversation through the door. Or so he hopes.

“I’m afraid we can’t answer that,” the woman explains with a sigh. “I know you have no reason to, and I know your instincts tell you otherwise, but we need you to trust us. You’ll get all the answers you need once you’re out of harm’s way.”

“In that case, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t want to make a fuss, lad,” Erd says.

“Your heart rate’s increasing,” the woman continues as if to block out the man’s words. “Eren, please, calm down or else risk this becoming more difficult than it needs to be. If you transform—”

“Transform into _what?!_ ” Eren shouts, slamming the candleholder against the floor. “Huh? Everybody keeps saying – _trying_ – to get me to transform into… into _what?!_ What sort of monster am I?”

“One we can’t possibly control.” Erd’s voice becomes icy cold as he draws a dagger from inside the short cloak he’s wearing. Eren is stunned into silence. “Now, I know we said we wouldn’t hurt you, but we will defend ourselves if we must.”

“Eren, I beg of you,” the woman says, but she too is holding a dagger that is roughly the length of Eren’s forearm. “If you stay here, they’ll kill you. They will never stop until your heart stops beating for good, and it’s only going to hurt more and more each time.”

His fists tremble where he holds them by his side. “Why would you bail me out, huh? Give me one good reason why I should go with you.” He’s reminded of his purpose of being here in the chapel. The way out he’s been searching for is being handed to him on a silver platter, but at what cost? If there’s anything this place has taught him, it’s that nothing is ever for free.

“Humankind needs you,” the woman says, simple as that. “You are our last hope.”

A heavy silence falls before Eren interrupts it. “But neither of you are human.”

Erd chuckles at that. “Perceptive, aren’t you.”

“Am I the same as you?”

“No,” she says, tucking her dagger back inside her cloak. “No, you’re not.” At the violent look on Eren’s face, she continues. “But we can sympathize. Our kind can help you.”

“That’s not what the other lady said. She sounded more than happy about me getting cut into.”

“I knew sending Zoe would be a bad idea,” Erd says, more to himself than anything.

“I’m not gonna tell you to shut up again.”

“So that’s it? You want to poke and prod at me too?” Eren’s limited patience is beginning to run short. The smell is getting worse, and a familiar burn is beginning to manifest just underneath his skin. Whatever it is these people are after is beginning to stir, and it terrifies him.

“I’m starting to see why Rivaille did what he did.”

“Erd!”

“Well, it’s true!”

“I understand you don’t trust us, by all means you have every right not to,” the woman says, glaring daggers at Erd. “But Rivaille said to trust him. If not us, trust him.”

Eren scoffs at that, eyes wide with incredulity. “Why the fuck would I do that?” Priceless, coming from the man who nearly left him unconscious if it hadn’t been for the timely intervention of the guards. “Is he crazy?”

“We’re all mad here,” Erd says with a hum. “You don’t get to join the Legion unless you have a few loose bolts in your noggin.”

“If there’s any reason, any at all, why you would trust him,” she says, her large eyes pleading, “please, do so.”

“What reason would I have?”

“I don’t know, Eren. I honestly don’t. But there has to be.”

The smell is suffocating, and the mere task of not throwing up is daunting. This is all crazy talk, crazier than the very patients inside this asylum. Had it not been for the pristine uniforms these two individuals are wearing, he would have taken them for a pair of lunatics. And yet, for some unfathomable and unknown pretext, Eren is looking for a reason.

He does have a reason, he finds. The reason being that any kind of fate is better than this inferno he calls a home.

“Do…” Eren takes a steadying breath. “Do I have to go alone?”

The woman raises an eyebrow before exchanging a look with Erd. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a friend.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Our orders are to get you. Throwing humans into the fray will only complicate things. We’d like to avoid as much collateral damage as possible.”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Eren says, squaring off his shoulders. “You need me, and I’m sure your superiors won’t be happy if you return empty handed.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to strike up a bargain,” the woman says with a smile.

A resounding crash interrupts the charged tension, making all three individuals turn towards the chapel door with startled eyes. They wait, and Eren for a moment thinks it might have just been Armin tripping over a vase in his hurry to get help, or someone else being clumsy. He doesn’t make much of it, until the woman mutters a disgruntled “shit” before blowing out the candles.

Deprived of his sense of sight, Eren quickly makes for the door, but Erd stops him with a sharp hush. Pressing himself up to the door but making no move to escape yet, Eren listens.

Heavy footfalls thud along the carpeted hallway, and the eerie quiet is interrupted by the grating sound of a scrape that bothers Eren’s teeth. The already uneasy atmosphere turns grave, restricting Eren’s breathing as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. These don’t sound like normal footsteps as they come in beats of four rather than two.

Another sickly smell joins the already stagnant scent twisting Eren’s gut. This one is new, however, and just as unpleasant.

“Eren, I need you to listen to me.” The woman’s whispered words are so faint Eren has to strain himself to hear them. “We need you to stay here.”

“Petra, we can’t,” Erd says, just as quiet. “If they find him and he’s alone—”

“He’ll be able to defend himself. Isn’t that right?”

Not trusting himself to talk, Eren weakly nods his head. He’s unsurprised that the woman, Petra, sees it.

“No running off, okay? We won’t take long.”

“Who’s out there?” he says at last, unable to keep a tremble out of his words. Eren’s known fear before, this past week proving relentless on the matter, but even then he knew what to expect on some level or another. Here, now, he’s completely blind and defenseless.

“Don’t worry about it,” Erd says, startling Eren when his hand finds his shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s best you don’t see.” Of course, there are better things to say to a young man burning with years of repressed curiosity.

Eren stays put as both Erd and Petra slip outside the door, his back to the frame and knees up to his chest. The darkness of the chapel offers safety despite its echoing vastness, until Eren’s imagination gets the best of him. 

These beings aren’t human. What guarantees him that no others are lurking in the corners of this place? But worse yet is the confirmation that he isn’t human himself, and neither is he of their kind.

Even while being unable to see them, Eren holds his hands in front of his face.

All of this anger, this burning, the confusion, and this unfathomable hunger may be tied in with whatever he is. This can’t possibly be good. He can also transform, but into what?

Closing his eyes, Eren decides to focus on what’s happening outside. The hall is quiet, and the unperturbed moonlight that bleeds in from underneath the door tells him that there’s nobody there. Everything seems calm, but a part of his mind tells him of a skirmish. He has no idea where the thought comes from, but Eren can feel the yelling and the screaming. Out of the corner of his eye he can see blood dripping down marble statues in the form of tears.

Eren strains himself, focusing on the nonexistent noises he hears inside his mind.

Footfalls in beats of four: the brisk gallop of a horse. The scrape of metal: the unsheathing of a sword. The sense of paralyzing fear and unknowable horror…

_Goddammit, Eren! Pull yourself together!_ The feeling of something wet between his fingers is surprisingly clear. _The formation’s been breached; we have to get back to Karanese. Jaeger!_

The sound of something big and hard slamming into the chapel door shocks Eren out of his stupor, sending him crawling away from it, underneath the wooden benches. His hands and knees shake as they carry him across the floor, away from danger and the disconcerting daydream.

The door creaks and groans when it’s repeatedly hit against, wood splitting into shards that let in the moonlight. The constant noise that’s joined in by guttural growls leaves Eren gasping for air as he cowers into himself near the altar. He slams a hand over his mouth to hold back his panicked panting, flinching with every blow that lands on the door.

When the final hit comes, it breaks down what’s left of the wooden frame. The chapel is plunged into a silence only broken by the agitated breathing of the intruder.

Eren tries hard not to gag at the stench, to keep his fear in check or else risk being found, but he knows it’s a lost cause. Even the hand covering his mouth is unable to stop the clattering of teeth.

_You can’t stop here, not after we’ve come this far!_

Be it out of fear, or the grief the dream incites in him, Eren is unable to hold back a cry.

_Run! Get Armin – the others – Eren, please! I’ll hold them off as long as I can but you have to keep going!_

The pews are flipped away, thrown off its path as if they’re weightless toys.

_If what we’ve been through means anything to you, trust me. Trust me and don’t let my death be in vain._

“Stop it!” Eren shouts, scrambling up into a sitting position when the pew he’s hiding beneath is flipped across the room. “Just – _stop!_ ”

The words die in his mouth when he sees the giant that towers before him.

Mostly humanoid, it stands on its hind legs which are bent inward at the knees. Long arms reach the floor, ending in wicked claws that are still imbedded in large pieces of wood. The most prominent feature on its head is a snout that drips drool and viscera, protruding teeth interlocking with each snap of its jaw. Massive shoulders rise and fall as it breathes, sniffing the air and looking down at a petrified Eren.

Of all nightmares, of all tales whispered at the dinner table over witches and wraiths, none can express the legitimate sense of terror this creature’s presence evokes. Its very aura is a stink that poisons.

Eren scrambles backwards, putting as much distance as physically possible. Out of the corner of his eye he searches for anything to wield as a weapon, regardless of how ineffective it may be. There’s nothing, which is expected from a church. Maybe he can make a run for it.

“Hey! Y-you t-thing!”

Eren’s blood runs cold at the sound of Armin’s voice coming from the door. “Armin, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!”

“Yeah, I’m talking to you!” Between both hands, Armin’s carrying a dagger similar to the ones Eren saw Erd and Petra pull out on him. It looks clumsy in too-small hands, and the fact that his friend is sobbing uncontrollably doesn’t add much reassurance.

The creature is slow to turn, staring Armin down while emitting a vicious growl that would make any grown man cry. Eren watches with mind-numbing fear as it lifts an arm, claws spread out and ready to swipe.

He won’t let this happen again.

An unreal sense of determination drives Eren forward, allowing him to push himself up to his feet with a yell that’s all but human. Fear gives way to rage, to a burning so absolute he feels he’ll leave a blaze in his wake. With only his hands he’ll tear this beast to the ground and shred it limb from limb until he’s left standing in a pool of its blood. 

Fire eats away at Eren’s muscle and strengthens the bones within his weak body. He can feel himself become stronger through his fury alone, his hands landing upon the creature’s back. 

He’ll kill it.

_He’ll devour it._

❖

Eren comes to at the sound of agitated voices arguing nearby.

His ears pop, leaving a trail of phantom blood to trickle out of them. He’s lying on his back, wide eyes facing a dark ceiling littered with shadows cast by candlelight. Sweat forms along his temples – he feels feverish. There isn’t an inch on his body that doesn’t ache at the thought of moving.

“—ain’t taking him and that’d be final.”

“You have no authority here, you… you… mangy ruffians.”

“Until further notice, Eren is under the protection of the Legion and any violation will be taken to the High Command,” Petra says, prompting Eren to rest his head on his side to watch the exchange. He instantly regrets it when his neck starts to throb.

“Then I’ll be seeing you two in court, along with your officers,” says a man standing outside the room door. “St. Chlorba is an unaffiliated organization; any cooperation with the military will be declared treason under the crown.”

“Is that why you have the Royal Police standing at each entry?” Petra asks, defiantly.

The man, a tall burly creature with reddish hair, slams a meaty fist against the open door. Neither Petra nor Erd flinch at his attempt to be intimidating. “That is none of your concern.”

“St. Chlorba is listed as a school for children in need medical help. What you people run here is illegal and you know it. I can have you charged for—”

“For what, little miss? For keeping these miscreants quiet and away from civilization? You saw what that… that _thing_ did. We’re doing this goddamned world a favor.”

“You're torturing innocent people.”

“We’re looking for a rhyme and reason to these attacks – for a way out. What we’re doing here is done to help humankind’s advance towards a world outside these walls. What we’re doing here, is looking for a way to stop that _monster_.” The man spits out the last word when he notices that Eren’s awake, directing it at him.

Eren flinches when sickening dread begins dripping into his stomach. He isn’t dead and he should be. What exactly happened?

He doesn’t think about asking out loud when Petra’s hand lashes out so quickly Eren thinks he’s imagined it. Her fingers wrap around the man’s throat so tightly he can see his eyes bulge out in both surprise and fear. She hisses, and a gleam catches on her wickedly long fangs.

The man gasps at the sight of them, and he immediately tries to pry her fingers away, but to no avail. His feet scramble against the floor, and it’s all for naught. “If you think he’s the only monster inside this cell, then you couldn’t possibly be more wrong,” she says, almost sweetly.

“Petra,” Erd says, placing a hand over her shoulder. “We have our orders.”

For one long and tense moment, Eren holds his breath, until she releases her hold. The man stumbles back before slamming the door shut, locking it, and running down the hallway like a burglar on the run.

“Humans,” she mumbles, tucking a lock of stray hair behind her ear. “I swear. Sometimes they’re worse than the lot of us.”

“Nice to see you’ve finally joined us,” Erd says to Eren, while reaching for the wet cloth Eren hadn’t noticed resting over his forehead. “Quite a bump you’ve got there. How are we feeling?”

Eren debates how to answer that. He’s more in the mood for asking questions rather than answering them, but the glower Petra gives him makes him reconsider. “Dizzy.” The sigh he releases burns his throat. “Thirsty.”

Erd moves across the room while Petra takes a seat on the unoccupied bed, legs and arms crossed. She’s awfully frightening for someone of her build, but now Eren can attribute that to the fact that she isn’t human. Her dainty hands are deceitful where they rest over her elbows.

“You should be bursting with questions,” she says, her voice turning soft. “We can answer the ones we’re allowed to.” Her lips curl into a gentle smile that melts Eren’s heart. He’s only ever seen the nurses smile like that, but it doesn’t have the same effect.

With the help of Erd, Eren sits up on a cot. They’re back in his room, locked safely until further notice. He doesn’t feel as uneasy as he should.

“What happened? Back there, I mean. What did I…” Eren fears the answer to that question, but he shouldn’t shy away from what he may be. “What did I do?”

“You shifted,” Erd offers, matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

“You shifted,” Petra repeats, letting down her arms to drum her fingers against her knee. “You transformed from human to werewolf.”

Confused, Eren cants his head. “Werewolf…?”

“Half human, half wolf.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he says, only to take it back immediately. It isn’t only the looks he receives, but the understanding that he can turn into anything when such a thing isn’t even possible. “That thing—”

“Was also a werewolf,” Erd says as he leans against the wall closest to Eren.

That thing had been terrifying. It looked nothing like the drawings in Armin’s books on wildlife; no over-sized dog with a long snout or fluffy paws.

“But that’s… impossible. How can anyone turn into that?” Wrapping his mind around the thought proves to be impossible. It’s just too hard to imagine actual human limbs contorting into the proportions that creature had. Eren feels like laughing; be it out of panic or ridiculousness, he isn’t quite sure yet. He can’t picture his arms elongating, or his legs twisting to that extent.

“What are you?” Eren asks instead. “What kind of monster are you two?” Although the question sounds bitter, borderline cruel, it isn’t his intention.

“Us? We’re soldiers,” Erd says with a shrug. He, on the other hand, sounds tired.

“To put is simply, we’re vampires,” Petra adds, rolling her eyes at Erd’s melodrama.

Eren barks out a genuine laugh that eventually dies down when he notices how serious both persons are. “You’re not joking.”

“I’m just surprised you’ve heard the term.” Erd pushes away from the wall, choosing instead to sit beside Petra. “Whatever you think it means, it isn’t.”

Forehead feeling clammy, Eren removes the cloth and drops it onto the floor. He feels ill again. “Pastor Nick talks about the demons.” He recalls a particularly disturbing sermon on the seven deadly sins and the agents of Hell that set them upon the people. The vampiric kind are the ones meant to spread pride and gluttony.

Petra hums. “The church doesn’t like us, but it’s not because of some divine revelation.”

“To be honest, nobody likes us. Even the Royal Police wants our branch disbanded. Only reason they haven’t done so is because they need someone to do the dirty work for them.”

“There’s gotta be a reason for that,” Eren says.

Erd and Petra share a quick look. “God knows how long we’ll be in here, so might as well,” she says.

The night is long, and Eren hates the headache that forms thanks to sleep deprivation. Long hours proved to be somewhat fruitful when the two open up a bit regarding their mission. Having taken it for common knowledge, they both apologize for being so forceful by the name of the Legion. When enlightened that politics in general isn’t something frequently discussed within the hospital, Erd does the honors to explain.

Eren learns of the hierarchy that runs the world inside the walls. At the pinnacle stands the king, untouchable behind his fortress and plentiful resources. Beneath him are both the Royal Police and the Legion: two opposing forces within the same army. The Royal Police are in charge of keeping order within the walls of the capital city, and usually just sit around and fill out papers all day – according to Erd. Meanwhile, the Legion is in charge of security: the word security being an umbrella term.

As it turns out, the stories of wraiths lurking just outside the walls is only half true. Rather than beings of darkness intent on devouring souls, they’re half-men and half-wolf monsters eager to devour human flesh. It’s the Legion’s job to keep them out, and subdue them if they come in. More terrifying yet, Eren finds, it’s their job to obtain specimens for experimentation.

“The Special Operations Squad,” Petra says, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Our job is reconnaissance and detainment. We bring them in.”

“You face those things… deliberately?”

“It’s not easy. The amount of comrades we’ve lost during deployment is far too grand…”

“What do you need them for?” Eren tries his best to address those creatures as something else entirely. He tries to exclude himself from the species with his words alone.

“A cure.”

Lycanthropy, much like Vampirism, as Petra tells it, are nothing but diseases. This much Eren has deduced. She explains how there’s nothing otherworldly about them, and the tales spun by priests and nanas are only meant to scare children. Contracted through bites or other open wounds, they’re both maladies that have been around for centuries. There are gaps, nevertheless, and those tend to be the ones delaying the delivery of the cure.

“We need a cure that will save turned werewolves, as well as those born as them. The longer the lineage, the purer the blood, the stronger the cure is required to be,” she says, yawning into her hand. It’s almost dawn.

There’s a long lapse of silence, all of them too tired and fatigued to keep their eyes open, let alone speak. Erd is already dozing off, his blonde hair having slipped out of his ponytail. Petra too has made herself comfortable against the wall, eyes falling shut.

“Won’t the sun kill you?” Eren asks, lying back down on his cot. “How about crosses? Garlic?”

Petra snorts. “Unless one of us is allergic to garlic, it’s harmless. The sun does weaken us, though… but mostly because our skin is too sensitive and sunburns will limit our mobility. Like I said, there’s nothing otherworldly about us.”

Eren lifts his head to look at her. “But you feed off blood?”

“Tomato soup,” Erd quips, only to get shoved by Petra. When neither of them give him a direct answer, Eren refrains from asking again.

Another long moment in which no one speaks leaves Eren deep in his troubled thoughts. There’s one question he’s refrained from asking since regaining consciousness, and while it’s been eating him from inside, Eren hasn’t had the courage to ask. He’s too tired now and he’d like to sleep, the likes of which will elude him until he finally has an answer. “Is Armin… okay?”

“Yes,” Petra says, but doesn’t elaborate.

“And the others?”

“A lot of people were injured,” Erd says, curling in on himself while yawning. “Two soldiers, no matter how capable, can’t possibly take on a dozen shifters without causing any damage.”

The way he says it, so nonchalantly, makes Eren feel hollow.

“Aren’t you two going to try to get out?” he asks instead, trying to lighten the heaviness in his heart.

Erd grumbles. “I’m sure Commander Smith will send for us, eventually.”

Turning onto his side, Eren sighs once more. From head to toe, there isn’t a single thing that doesn’t hurt. He isn’t even sure if Petra’s deadpan ‘yes’ is the honest truth, but all he can do is pray that it is as he shuts his eyes and hopes for sleep to claim him. Sleeping in the same room with two non-humans should keep him on edge and far too tense to relax, but the knowledge that he too is a monster assuages the distress.

The three of them will be kept here for a while, he reckons, so he might as well get used to the company.

The way they sleep makes Eren doubt their every claim. For an elite squad in charge with such dangerous missions, they sure sleep like two children. There’s nothing remotely regal or threatening about them like this, which does help soothe Eren’s nerves if only just a bit. He’s just thinking that it probably won’t be so bad, having to share a cell with these individuals, until Erd starts snoring. At this point, Eren begs for this Commander Smith to get them out as soon as possible.

❖

Eren learns a lesson in diplomacy over the course of three days, mostly on how long a process it is to get anything done. He also learns that, for a soldier, Erd whines far too much. “At least I have a bed in the barracks,” he repeats for the fifth time that day. Three nights sleeping on a cold hard floor have apparently taken their toll on him.

“Quit it already,” Petra mumbles, plucking at the ends of her hair. “We’ve been through worse and you know it.”

Eren can only imagine. He’s heard of enough horrors to keep him awake for months. The stories aren’t much different from the ones the other patients would weave during lunch, but the gravity of them being real is entirely new. Old nightmares have given way to newer ones, especially ones where he transforms into a decrepit creature hell-bent on devouring human flesh.

“I’ll never take Auruo’s atrocious oatmeal for granted again.”

Petra has the decency to chuckle at that. “Still an exaggeration.”

A hurried knock on the door interrupts them, and it’s when Armin harshly whispers Eren’s name that he dashes out of his cot. 

The door may be locked, but Eren’s tall enough to look through the iron bars at the top if he steps on his tiptoes. 

On the other side, Armin takes a step back in order to see him. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” he says with a teary smile. There’s a bandage wrapped around his head, but he looks okay.

“It’s great to see you alive and breathing.” Eren huffs out a laugh, letting his pent-up worry go. “What happened to your head?”

“Concussion,” he says, shrugging. “I got thrown across the room by a lycanthrope…” Armin reconsiders his words. “How are you? Did they do anything to you?”

Eren shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.” The sound of voices down the hall makes Armin take a step away. “Armin, wait!”

“I can’t stay. This entire strip has been evacuated, no one’s allowed near you. I just wanted to see for myself… if you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” Eren hisses out, too angry to hold back hitting the door. He’s just sick, he tells himself; he isn’t a monster.

“I also came to tell you that he’s here.”

“He?”

Armin nods, looking off to his side when the voices get closer. “The man I’ve told you about. He’s with the Legion.”

Eren looks behind, to Petra and Erd, who are staring at him curiously. It does make sense that the military has been keeping a close eye on him since he was a child, but a part of him feels deeply disappointed. The blonde man isn’t the guardian or savior Eren has fantasized him to be.

“Eren, I have to go,” Armin whispers hurriedly. “Be careful, please.”

Giving him a nod, Eren shoos him off. “Get out of here. Save me a bread roll, will you?” But Armin’s too far to possibly hear him by now.

Eren eases himself down, only to stretch up again when the voices become clearer. He recognizes one of them as it is impossible not to. A play of worry, trepidation and excitement wreak havoc in his stomach, and he’s forced to step back when the door is pulled open.

Behind him, both Petra and Erd are standing rigid. They salute with a fist to their heart and another to their lower back.

Eren looks back to the door and notices the guard who had locked them in there in the first place looking awfully foul. His back is too straight; eyes averted as he holds the door open for another man to step inside the room.

His heart ceases for half a moment at the horrible stench. Far more potent that the ones he’s already come in contact with, Eren swallows, and tries hard not to mention it. Of all things, he does not want to make a fool out himself. Something inside him twists violently, and it takes all of Eren’s willpower to keep the monster caged. It doesn’t seem to like the man one bit.

Pale yellow hair is tucked behind his ear, framing a strong face. His eyes are of a blue so shocking, Eren is left questioning the authenticity of them. Despite these two things, he does indeed look nothing like Armin. He’s tall, well built, and looks like he has the potential to squish Eren with a single finger. Stately, sophisticated, handsome, and kind are all words that can describe him. Eren’s unsure about the last one, but he reckons that the way he smiles is reminiscent of sunshine and spring flowers.

The man nods to the soldiers in the room. “At ease.”

They both ease up their stance, but continue to stand in a respectful posture. Petra and Erd look more different than they have during these past couple of days. For the first time, Eren doesn’t doubt their title.

“Hello, Eren,” the man says, drawing his attention to him. Holding out a hand, Eren clumsily shakes. “I’m Commander Erwin Smith.”

_Oh._

Opening his mouth to say something, anything, Eren becomes distracted when his eyes drift to the man standing behind the commander. He knew he’d recognized that voice a few moments ago. True enough, it’s him, Rivaille. Standing next to Erwin, he looks far shorter than Eren had previously calculated.

The hand clasped around Eren’s own squeezes before letting go, and it’s enough to get his attention once more.

“I apologize for the delay,” he says, turning on his heels and heading out the door. “The Royal Police proved more difficult than I had hoped.”

“Go on,” Petra whispers beside Eren’s hear, giving him a little shove.

Eren follows in the commander’s footsteps, lowering his gaze when he passes in front of Rivaille and out into the hallway. He isn’t surprised, but he is startled when he’s suddenly grabbed by the arms by two soldiers who place him in shackles. Eren blinks up, dumbfounded.

“Protocol,” Erwin says, answering the unspoken question. “I regret having to meet under such circumstances, but I’m afraid it’s a necessary precaution.”

Flexing his fingers, Eren keeps his eyes trained on the floor. He understands, and lets them know with a nod.

“Nile,” Erwin says to yet another soldier. “Lead the way.”

Eren watches them all mile out down the hallway with Erwin and Nile at the front, Petra and Erd close behind, followed by Rivaille, and then him with a guard at each side. They don’t push or shove at him, but their faces promise a swift death were he to misbehave.

“Listen closely,” Rivaille suddenly says, startling Eren enough to make him flinch. “During the trial you are not to speak unless spoken to. Don’t lie, but don’t make yourself look like a threat. Understood?”

Eren instantly nods, but then speaks up when he realizes that the man isn’t even looking at him. “Yes.”

Eren nearly trips over his feet when Rivaille whips around, his long black coat moving behind him with a surreal kind of elegance. His face has murder written all over it, making Eren want to sink into the nearest hole. Pale blue eyes have no hint of red of them. “Yes, _sir_.”

His jaw moves, but words fail Eren. On the second try he succeeds on stammering, “Yes, s-sir.”

By the time the last word is out, Rivaille is walking away again, and the guards are shoving at his shoulder. “Now,” he says, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “Let’s get you out of this shithole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided on using "Rivaille" rather than "Levi" for reasons. I guess it looks fancier? But other than for aesthetics, there is indeed an important reason behind this decision that will become obvious in later chapters.
> 
> And in case you were wondering, yes, this is a slow-build fic, so you might want to sit back and grab some popcorn. xoxo


	4. Corrogo

For the first time in over ten years, Eren sees the sky.

It’s a dark and gloomy day as a light shower delays their departure for another hour, and while Eren clamps down his excitement by not frolicking under the rain, Rivaille does him the favor of simply shoving him under it. 

“He’s filthy,” he offers when Erwin turns to him, looking nowhere near amused.

Eren doesn’t care if he looks and smells like a lost dog while standing underneath the now torrential rain, it feels too refreshing against his grimy skin. There’s still blood caked on his clothes, as well as underneath his nails. Blood he has no idea how it got there, but judging by the looks on Petra and Erd’s face, he rather not ask. Not yet, at least.

He’s eventually wrangled into another a carriage different from the one both officers and subordinates ride on. Hands tied together, he sits quietly across the armed guards. He ignores them in favor of taking in the world outside the hospital. There isn’t much to see, but even the bare autumn trees look stunning against a brick backdrop. In the distance, Wall Rose looms.

It takes them an hour to reach their destination, and throughout the time Eren has counted five cottages, eight goats, ten horses, and plenty of chickens. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to count that high just yet. Hopefully he’ll learn how to in the near future.

Unceremoniously shoved out of the carriage, he has little time to appreciate the structure in front of him: an impenetrable fortress with spiraling towers taller than anything Eren has ever seen. Which isn’t much, frankly speaking. In the back of his mind, he makes a note to show it to Armin once they meet again.

He doesn’t see anyone else for the rest of the day, the guards locking him in a dungeon deep underground. It’s dark and dank, but at least the stench of _vampire_ is faint. Unlike his cell in the hospital, here, he has no place to sit on. He takes to the floor, and spends the rest of his time lost in his own thoughts and anxieties.

❖

The ticking of a clock is the only thing that keeps him from drifting off to sleep. Eren has little idea how much time has passed, but if the pain in his gut is anything to go by, he’ll reckon it’s been hours. Without windows, it’s impossible to tell whether it’s day or night.

He heaves a sigh of relief when the dungeon doors are slammed open, someone familiar bursting in with a joyous cackle. Eren recognizes her as the woman from St. Chlorba, but the recollection sets weariness heavy in his stomach. She had been the one talking to the physician about the experiments.

“Hello, Eren,” she says, almost singsong like. “How are we holding up in here, hm?” She approaches the prison bars and squats down to his height, mindful of her hands when he flinches. “My name is Hanji; chief scientist of the Legion. I believe you’ve seen me before, right?”

Knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them, Eren looks at her out of the corner of his eye. That wasn’t the name he had heard when he hid near the stairwell, but he doesn’t point it out. However, judging by that last bit, he assumes she knew he was there all along.

“Don’t be afraid, little lycan, I won’t hurt you.” The wink she gives him is unnerving. “Now, I know you’re frightened, you have every right to be, but you have to be a champ and work with me here.” Hanji straightens up and reaches for the ring of keys hanging from her hip to unlock the cell. “There’s a roomful of people waiting for you upstairs. Rivaille didn’t want me to tell you this, but I thought that’d be a terrible idea. However, remember what he told you?”

His palms are sweating, but he nods his head. “Don’t speak unless spoken to and don’t lie.”

Hanji beams at him, and it looks misplaced in such a dark and morbid atmosphere. “There’s no need to worry, Eren. We have you covered.” She holds out her hand for him to take, but he refuses it, pushing himself to his feet without help. “That is, unless, the Royal Police have an ace up their sleeve. In that case, well…”

Eren follows her out of his cell, and this time he willingly holds his hands behind his back to be restrained. No use in fighting when he knows nothing about where he is at.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Eren asks beside Hanji as they head down the eerily quiet corridor.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, she offers him a smile. “I know you’re confused about a lot of things, but bear just a little longer.”

They mount a staircase that leads them to a wider corridor, this one with tapestries similar to the ones in St. Chlorba’s library. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Arriving at a pair of large doors, Eren notices that the torchlight has nothing to do with them being deep inside a castle. It’s night out, but the storm is still going strong, keeping the moonlight away from the crimson carpets and marble floors. He doesn’t have the time to admire the strangely brownish hue of the night sky when Hanji places a hand on his shoulder, blocking his view.

“You’ll know soon enough,” she says, before opening the doors.

A paralyzing wave of terror seizes all movements, even when the guards shove him into the massive room. Hundreds of people stand around him, dressed in solemn black and staring with repulsed faces. He’s reminded of the shrouded faces in the physician’s office, as he had been strapped and tortured in the name of medicine.

The stink is so strong it’s hard not to vomit.

He keeps his head down as he is manhandled towards the center of the courtroom, desperately trying to hold back the tears. The knowledge that he’s alone has never really bothered him until now. Now that he can’t crawl onto the lap of a mother, or the arms of a father. Not even Armin is there to listen to his trembling sobs. He feels tiny in such a large room, and he feels hopeless when he’s pushed onto his knees, bound and secured to a stand like some animal.

But he is an animal. It’s only fair to receive this sort of treatment.

There are no torches here, only candlelight, making it far too dark for him to see much of anything. He can hear them, just not their breathing. It’s like kneeling in a pit of humming corpses.

“Eren Jaeger,” the man at the stand says, tone deceptively neutral. All Eren can see is that he’s wearing a ridiculous white wig. “Have you any idea why you are here?”

Eren flexes his fingers when they begin to go numb, searching for the strength to speak up. No one here knows him, but he’s still afraid of making a fool out of himself. A sharp inhale tells him that he’s wrong, in fact, because he recognizes several of those scents. Somewhere in the crowd stand both Commander Smith and Rivaille.

“No, sir,” he says at last, the final word breaking when he attempts to raise his voice. “I don’t know why.” The courtroom turns deafly silent as he waits for a reply.

“According to the report filed by the Royal Police, you are a lycanthrope. Is that correct?”

Eren doesn’t hide the fact that he’s searching the crowd for a hint of a familiar face. He’s been ordered not to lie, but he hardly knows the truth of anything. “I… That’s what I’ve been told.”

The judge sifts through several papers. “There are no records concerning your biological parents, place of birth, or the circumstances in which you contracted the disease. You’ve been a ward at St. Chlorba since you were six months of age, and have no prior record of unlawful conduct.”

Leaning over the podium, the man looks down at Eren with an impassive expression. “According to the report filed by the Legion, you have no knowledge whatsoever of the world outside the hospital. Is that correct?”

Throat dry, Eren nods his head. “Education is… very… um, limited, sir.” A sense of dread shuts him up. He’s unsure where it comes from, but gut instinct tells him not to run his mouth.

“It also says here that on the night of October twentieth, you assaulted three humans amidst an ambush, resulting in the death of a human nurse.”

Without thinking better of it, Eren yanks at the chains keeping him bound to the ground. The pain that shoots through his chest is very real despite the absence of a wound. Part of him had believed that he hadn’t caused any harm on that night, but facing the truth that he did leaves him feeling distraught.

He killed someone.

The guilt is unbearable as it crushes his lungs.

“As a sentient lycanthrope accused of manslaughter, we are gathered here to ultimately decide your fate,” the judge says. He holds a hand towards either side of the courtroom. “However, both the Legion and the Royal Police have expressed keen interest in you, and each will present their proposals towards your custody.”

Eren sags at the mention of the word custody. If he understands correctly, whoever gets to keep him, gets to decide what will become of his life. However unsure of the Legion’s intentions, even with Hanji’s talk of experiments, Eren guesses that his best chance rests with them. Petra’s plea for trust still rings inside his head.

“First off, Commander Erwin Smith of the Reconnaissance Legion.”

“Your honor,” Erwin begins, and it’s suddenly easy to spot him among the endless mass of black. “We believe that enlisting Eren Jaeger into the ranks of the Legion would be the best course of action in this situation. Not only would he prove an invaluable asset in protecting the districts, but we could also attain information and further knowledge of his species through constant surveillance and experimentation.”

The silence that follows leaves Eren fidgeting uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to become a soldier, not after he’s finally come across his much sought after freedom.

“Is that it?” the judge prompts, looking severely unimpressed with Erwin’s proposal. At the commander’s nod, he turns to the opposite side of the courtroom. “Nile Dawk of the Royal Police.”

“On behalf of my division, Erwin’s proposition is ludicrous.”

The jab sparks a wave of murmurs across the room that urges the judge to call for order. “I don’t require your opinion,” the judge says, clearly aggravated by Nile’s gloating. “State your proposal.”

Nile stands a little straighter, the gesture making him look bizarrely human. “With custody of the creature, we’ll see to its execution immediately.”

The murmuring is back, but to Eren’s dismay, they all sound _pleased_.

“For centuries we have struggled to keep our kind thriving, to keep humankind safe from these… monsters, and you wish to just let it stay here? This thing is unstable at best. Without a past, and clearly no future, keeping it alive will only drive us towards unnecessary expenses.” Nile’s voice fails at remaining calm, and instead he sounds scared. Not once does he look at Eren while he speaks.

“Once again, you’re letting your cowardice shine through. It’s very unbecoming.” Eren flinches at the voice so close to him. “Tell me, Dawk. Have you ever seen a lycan in its true form?” Rivaille asks.

Try as he may, it’s hard to keep his eyes on the floor when Rivaille is standing right next to him. The need for survival overrides the dregs of anxiety his presence incites. Eren tries to calm his breathing, to pretend that talk of his possible death sentence doesn’t make him want to wail like a newborn. He tries to be an adult, but the rattling of the chains as he trembles gives him away.

When Nile doesn’t answer, looking positively sour, Rivaille continues. “Lycanthropes have no regard for life, human or other, whatsoever. They’re brutal, barbaric—” Eren yelps when his hair is fisted and used to tug his head back. “Does this look like the face of a lethal animal?”

Eren snarls, knowing full well that he isn’t helping his case, but Rivaille’s fingers are digging into his scalp. He’s ready to bark at him to let him go, but he’s left reeling from a backhanded slap he wasn’t expecting. Rivaille is looking at him now, cold eyes a deep crimson.

“Lack of respect towards authority aside, he’s just a child,” he says, turning back to the crowd. “He knows nothing of politics, had never seen rain until this morning. He only just learned his last name a matter of days ago.” Rivaille let’s go of his hair, but doesn’t move away. “Usually a soldier needs breaking before he can become a man suited for war, but you can’t break what has never been forged to begin with.”

Eren doesn’t understand a damn thing, so he keeps his head bowed.

“Six months,” Erwin speaks from his place in the crowd, his voice booming and powerful. “Hand us an animal and we’ll return you a soldier fit to serve the king. A key to a peaceful future.”

“You can’t possibly believe this!” Nile calls out, looking frantic where he leans over the wooden railings. “You can’t just assume you can train a lycanthrope. If it goes berserk—”

“I’ll put him down,” Rivaille says, and regardless of his calm voice, the courtroom falls quiet to listen. “Your honor, you’re well aware of my skill when it comes to eradicating mutts. Of course,” he turns to talk directly at Nile. “I could always hand him to you. The Legion will not be held responsible if he turns and eats the lot of you.”

There’s a trace of humor in his words, even through the deadly serious remark.

“We have our methods of controlling it,” Nile says, bordering on vicious. “If anything, you just ascertained us why that thing should be killed. All you people ever do is sacrifice the life of hundreds, and for what? What advances have you discovered to end this bloody war?”

“That’s enough.” The thud of a gavel does little to calm the chatter.

“Sheltering a lycan is a crime against the crown,” Nile continues, looking a bit calmer now that most of the people present seem to be in his favor. “The court cannot possibly rule against that law, especially when the lycan in question has already committed an offense.”

“Actually,” Erwin says, and Eren’s certain that single word sounds smug, “that law was amended last year.” At the judge’s nod in confirmation, the commander continues. “In fact, your honor, I’d like to invite two of my soldiers to testify in Eren’s favor.”

The judge waves his hand. “Be my guest.”

Erwin’s smile is barely noticeable, but it’s obviously present. “Nile, if you please.”

“Excuse me?”

“They are in your custody, are they not?”

“Mr. Dawk,” the judge interrupts, drumming his nails against the podium. “Care to explain why you have Legion members in your custody?”

Nile’s eyes are wide as loathing begins bordering on panic once again. “They’re being held for questioning, your honor. They were present during the attack on St. Chlorba and we have reason to believe they were after the lycanthrope.”

“Is this true?” the judge asks, turning to Erwin.

“Yes, they were present at the time of the assault. They were serving as guards for our head scientist, Hanji Zoe, who received an invitation from the hospital’s physician to further study the specimen in question.”

It isn’t a lie, per se, but Eren has half a mind to be impressed by his skill to twist the truth in his favor.

“Where have you been keeping these subjects?” the judge says, coldly, as if he already knows he isn’t going to like the answer.

Nile’s jaw clenches as he takes a moment to answer. “They’re currently in the dungeons at the lower levels, your honor.”

“And previously?” Rivaille says, making Eren flinch again. His presence had been forgotten as the argument advanced.

Hushed murmurs spread out among the Royal Police when a man leans over to whisper into Nile’s ear. Nile shakes his head grimly before turning back to the judge. “St. Chlorba’s higher floors have maximum security chambers for excessively violent patients. They were kept there until we were able to find the clearance necessary for their release. Rest assured, your honor, they’ve been properly seen to.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Eren snaps, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention before he can think better of it. “Eighteen years I’ve been locked up in that godforsaken place and there’s no such thing. We’re all wrangled up like cattle, violently insane or not, and shoved into pitiful cells with nothing but a filthy mattress thrown on the floor! The three of us were held prisoners for three days in one of those cells, with just one serving of food for all three.”

Eren blinks back in surprise, shocked that the outburst just came out of his mouth. He slinks back, head bowed again when anger ebbs back into fear. He shouldn’t have done that, not when Rivaille is looking down at him in a way that promises excruciating pain if he doesn’t shut his mouth.

“Is this true?” the judge asks Nile, who adamantly shakes his head.

“Of course not, your honor! It’s a capital offense to have our kind—”

“Bring them here,” the judge snaps, not letting the man finish. “We’ll see what they have to say about this.”

A handful of people spill out of the courtroom, leaving the place quieter still. Eren’s erratic breathing sounds too loud in his own ears and he tries his best to calm himself. Petra and Erd are friendly enough; they wouldn’t testify against him, would they? Everyone in the Legion is adamant to get their hands on Eren, so this can’t possibly be a bad thing.

Still, it seems that werewolves – or lycans, as they call them – are widely loathed creatures. He doesn’t understand much else of what’s going on, but that fact is clear enough.

Eren hesitantly looks up at Rivaille out of the corner of his eye, and finds that he looks bored. Arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping against the marble floor, the man looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“What is it?” he says, startling Eren.

“Nothing, sir.”

Still not looking at him, Rivaille clenches his jaw. It’s a lovely sight. “You were given a direct order.”

Eren doesn’t reply. He hangs his head in embarrassment. Rivaille really shouldn’t blame him for being unable to hold back his anger and indignation; it’s unfair of him. The man knows nothing of being held prisoner for all his life, with limited interaction with anyone other than a disinterested nurse. And besides, Nile was blatantly lying about the condition his comrades were kept in.

With a huff, Eren moves his neck and shoulders when he feels them begin to stiffen. His legs ache underneath him, and his wrists are sore where the shackles bite into his skin every time he tries to yank them. He feels well and truly like the animal these beings look down upon – like Rivaille is currently doing.

Eren doesn’t flinch this time, although worry settles itself in his chest as he stares right back at the man standing next to him. Rivaille’s face gives nothing away concerning his thoughts, but Eren likes to believe that that’s a hint of curiosity he sees shining in gray eyes.

Worry melts away, and eerie calmness sinks into Eren’s bones when the hum returns. He doesn’t feel safe, not one bit, but fear feels irrelevant right now. In this numbed state Eren can think clearer, but about what, he hasn’t the slightest idea.

A rush of sound pulls both their attention away from each other, to the two struggling individuals wrestling themselves out of their binds. The guards holding Petra and Erd step back with a scornful frown.

“State your names,” the judge calls out.

“Petra Ral, affiliate of the Reconnaissance Legion, and member of the Special Operations Unit under the command of Captain Rivaille.”

“Erd Gin, affiliate of the Reconnaissance Legion, and member of the Special Operations Unit under the command of Captain Rivaille.”

Eren looks from them to Rivaille at the mention of _captain_. That word alone lends a whole new amount of gravity to the situation; whatever said situation may be.

“I was informed you two were at St. Chlorba during the time of the incident. Is that correct?”

“Yes, your honor,” they answer in unison.

“I would like to hear your version of the events,” the judge says, pointedly looking at both Nile and Erwin as if telling them to not interrupt.

Erd nods in Petra’s direction, and taking a deep breath, she stands at the center of the room, right beside Eren.

“On the thirteenth of October, our chief scientist received a formal invitation to St. Chlorba, requesting her assistance for a – and I quote – ‘groundbreaking experimental procedure that may help shed light on the mystery behind lycanthropy’. With clearance from Commander Smith, we were both assigned as chaperones to Ms. Zoe that evening.

“An hour before the procedure began, the higher floors of the hospital were breached. An estimated total of twenty-two lycanthropes infiltrated the premises for what we think may have been an operation to capture Ms. Zoe.”

Eren doesn’t look up from the floor, afraid that his confusion may give them away. True, he’s still in the dark concerning most of the things that happened that night, but he figures Petra leaving out the fact that they were there to take him away is a pretty big deal. More half-truths spoken on his behalf.

“You mean to tell me that these creatures formulated a plan and acted accordingly?” the judge says, pushing himself back on his chair with an appalled look.

Petra’s face looks grim. “They were intelligent.”

“That’s ridiculous!” someone from the crowd cries out.

“This gives us reason to believe that Eren isn’t the only one capable of controlling his lycan form,” Erwin speaks up before the room around him erupts into chaos. It isn’t much help.

Eren lifts his head, ready to clear up the fact that he can’t, in fact, control his own monster, but Rivaille is looking down at him with a blank face that is far scarier than any spoken threat.

The judge calls for order again as his eyes bore into Eren’s skull before turning back to Petra. “Please continue, miss.”

Petra looks down at Eren with one of her kind smiles. “We became overwhelmed by their numbers, and it was only when threatened that Eren transformed. He made himself a decoy as we proceeded to cut the others down.”

“Was this before or after he killed the nurse?” Nile quips, but the judge doesn’t tell him to be quiet. Instead, he turns back to Petra, waiting for an answer.

Petra manages to look confused. “Your honor?”

“The report says there was a casualty during the skirmish. Not that I’m surprised. Wherever the Legion goes, death seems to follow,” the judge says, earning chuckles from everyone but the Legion members.

“Eren didn’t kill anyone,” Petra says, sounding insulted. “He was in our presence from beginning to end. He even went as far as protecting his human friend.”

Eren shuts his eyes at her words, feeling them begin to sting. He isn’t sure how much of that is the truth, but he desperately wants to believe it. He didn’t kill a nurse and he had protected Armin. It’s more than he could have hoped for.

“Who filed this report?” Petra asks, and for someone so small, the power behind her voice is frightening. Erd has to touch his hand to her elbow to keep her from shouting.

The judge looks cross when he answers, “The Royal Police, of course.”

“Does the report also say that we were kept prisoners in the same quarters with Eren?”

“No, but I was just informed of it and that is why you’re both here,” the judge says. From his tone of voice, Eren can tell the man is tired of dealing with both organizations. “The boy. I want you to tell me about his behavior during the time of your _illegal_ imprisonment.”

Petra shuffles her feet, looking the judge head-on. “He was more of a gentleman than a lot of the folks present.” The crowd is divided between insulted gasps and amused chuckles. Eren has it in him to smile. “During our stay, Erd and I treated him antagonistically. Even so, Eren was kind enough to share his single daily meal.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Nile says, but shuts up at the judge’s glare.

“Did you feel threatened?” Eren snaps his head up when he realizes the judge is talking directly to him. “Why did you treat them the way you did?”

The question sounds suspicious, so Eren looks up to Rivaille for confirmation. The nod he gets in return is barely noticeable. Answering it feels right, however. 

“Yes, your honor. I’m… I’m not used to sitting with strangers. My home had been attacked by monsters, I turned into a monster myself… how couldn’t I feel threatened?” He takes a deep breath, hoping he’s expressing himself properly. “The nurses always told me that kindness is all we have after everything’s taken away, and it’s true. I don’t have anything of my own, your honor, so kindness was the only thing I could offer to the people who helped defend my home.”

The silence that follows has Eren shrinking into himself out of fear that he has said something wrong.

The judge’s eyes are sharp when he looks from Eren to Rivaille, then back again. “Why did you look to him before answering?”

Eren’s eyes widen, certain he’s done something wrong. “Uh, b-because—”

“I instructed him to not answer unless I ordered him to,” Rivaille says, his eyes narrowing, challenging anyone to question him. “Wouldn’t do to have some uneducated animal run his mouth in the presence of the king’s representatives. Personally, I don’t give a fuck, but as the voice of the Legion, well…”

Eren gawks at the man’s language, but the judge seems unsurprised.

Rivaille’s argument feels like it’s contradicting the whole point of the trial. What’s the use in lying to the court, to then admit that Eren’s confessions are being filtered? Not that they are, exactly, since Eren’s spoken nothing but the truth when asked, but why confess that they’re keeping a tight leash on Eren’s actions?

He blinks when it finally clicks in his head. This is all for show, although he’s unsure for who it’s for. The Legion has successfully demonstrated that they’re perfectly capable of controlling a situation without having to, supposedly, lie. The realization leaves Eren feeling awed and humbled, if not weary of what else they may be capable of.

The judge takes a moment to deliberate, his beady eyes staring unblinkingly at Eren and Rivaille. He then turns to the Legion with a stern nod. “Commander Smith.” At Erwin’s nod, the judge turns back to Rivaille. “Captain Rivaille, under the condition that you are to subdue the creature were he to lose control, I will grant you partial custody of this young man before me.”

“Your honor!” a man beside Nile calls out, a hand clutching at his chest as he were having a heart attack. “You can’t possibly think that having that… that _thing_ inside the inner district is a good idea! If the people are to find this out, they’ll revolt! They won’t stand for this!”

“The verdict may be annulled if any of the existing laws are contravened,” the judge continues as if no one had said a thing. He raises his head then, closing the book before him. “In six months I want a full report regarding any advancement you may discover.”

“Of course, your honor,” Erwin says, nodding his head solemnly. He shares a brief look with Rivaille, one that looks discreetly pleased.

“As for you, Commander Nile, this violation won’t go ignored by the military court.”

Nile’s expression is deceptively accepting as he places a hand over the shoulder of the man standing beside him. “Duly noted.” His gaze is on Erwin as he says so.

“Case closed,” the judge announces, marking the discussion’s finality with a hit of his gavel.

A part of Eren can’t help but feel relieved. He won’t be executed by the end of the night, and there will be no further talk of said execution for at least six months. Six very long months, he guesses, if all this talk of experiments and research are a real thing. However grim that may sound in his head, he’s overjoyed that he will no longer be forced under the blade of St. Chlorba’s physician. Ms. Zoe seems like a nice lady, eccentricity aside.

The people drift out of the court in a way that feels unreal. Eren can’t even hear the rustle of clothing as they move, for all the extra fabric they have on their person. Vampires are no less frightening now than they were when Eren first met Rivaille in his cell, but they’re far more tangible now that he’s faced them. Convened like this, they almost resemble humans, if not for the putrid stench.

“Welcome to the Reconnaissance Legion, Jaeger,” Rivaille says, looking down at Eren while a guard releases Eren from his chains.

Rivaille doesn’t smell as strongly, however. He’s unable to put a finger on it, but if Eren absolutely had to put a name to what Rivaille smells like, he would have to say he smelled of rich lavender soap.

❖

The first thing Eren does as member of the Legion is eat far more than he’s ever eaten before on a single sitting.

Ignoring the equally concerned and amused looks everyone is giving him, Eren grins into the deliciously thick stew he’s been served. A stew with actual meat and vegetables, and bread so fresh it’s warm to the touch. He takes a moment to wipe away tears of happiness from his cheeks, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious. While the people around him – all dressed in their fine silks and fancy cravats – may consider this meal fit for a peasant, for Eren, it tastes like the nectar of the gods.

Across from him sits Erwin, who smiles at him with something akin to tender affection as Eren shovels the stew like someone famished. He slows down when he notices his gaze, trying to at least pretend to have an ounce of decorum. Those blue eyes are unnerving in their intensity, but something about them makes Eren feel safe. Then again, it’s thanks to Erwin’s shockingly accurate predictions that Eren is here to begin with.

The rank of commander is well deserved, Petra explained. Erwin’s wit and ability to strategize ahead of time, taking all possible outcomes into consideration and carefully finding a way to manipulate them in their favor compares to nothing the kingdom has ever seen. Eren learns that the Legion is devotedly loyal to him, and he isn’t at all surprised. A strategic mastermind, charming, and handsome to boot – it comes as no surprise that Eren wants to crawl into a hole and never come out of it again.

While chewing on a delightfully flavorful potato, Eren decides that he wishes to be just like Erwin when he grows up.

However, for all the unrealistic perfection that is Erwin Smith, he doesn’t quite catch Eren’s eye the way Captain Rivaille does.

Sitting by the fireplace, a book placed over a bent knee, Rivaille looks an interesting mixture of bored and regal. Without his evening cloak over his shoulders, he looks slim. Eren wonders if the title of captain is just for show, because the man is far too elegant to have even seen battle. The shadows cast by the fire make his face look sharp and delicate, and Eren briefly forgets that Rivaille is everything but frail.

He can still feel blow after blow, the phantom pain if he remembers hard enough.

Eren’s scrutiny is interrupted when Erwin chuckles. No one but him had noticed Eren staring, and his cheeks warm as he turns back to his soup.

Shortly after, Eren is introduced to the rest of the Special Operations Unit.

Aurou is man who tries to make himself appear unpleasant for reasons only heaven knows. He speaks with his nose upturned as he shakes Eren’s hand, and then theatrically wipes his hand when he turns away. He gives the impression of wanting to imitate Captain Rivaille, but Eren figures he’s probably just imagining things.

Gunther’s loudness makes Eren laugh when he pats him on the shoulder so hard Eren fears it’s gotten dislocated. He pours him ale and claims that it’s the best they have, but a taste reveals that he’s been served water instead. This makes Erd giggle-snort in the far corner of the room.

Hanji joins them shortly after with a stack of papers she unceremoniously drops next to Rivaille on the divan. “Our pup needs papers,” she declares brightly, handing him a pen.

Rivaille stares at her, as if hoping to intimidate her into going away. It doesn’t work. “Why do I have to fill these?”

“Because he’s your ward,” Erwin answers with a satisfactory smile, as if the words taste like the sweetest of honey on his tongue. Everyone is enjoying this a little too much.

“My job’s to put him down if he goes feral,” Rivaille says, gingerly pushing the papers away from him. “He’s Hanji’s responsibility.”

“No can do, Rivaille. I don’t have the time to keep my eyes on him all day long. I’m a very busy woman, after all.”

“As if I’m not?” Rivaille says, reluctantly moving to organize the papers into something presentable. “Busy, I mean.”

This gets a smirk from Erwin, as well as a knowing “I can attest to that.”

The remark doesn’t get a reaction from anyone present, but it does catch Eren’s attention. He tries to be tactful about his surprise, hiding it against his stew, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Erwin, and then Rivaille. To Eren’s unease, Erwin is still staring at him, but his smile has turned enigmatic.

“Can I ask what exactly my purpose here is?” Eren says in an attempt to change the unspoken subject between him and Erwin. “I mean, I get it, somewhat. I’ll be your lab rat for the next six months and such, but…” Stirring what’s left of his stew, Eren sighs. “Will I be allowed to go outside the walls at some point?”

“Brat, you don’t want to see the world outside those walls,” Aurou says, yelping when Petra’s elbow connects with his ribs. She says something about him needing to stop talking like the captain.

“He’s right, you know,” Gunther adds, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down. “People usually go the other way.” He makes a complicated gesture with his fingers that goes completely lost on Eren. “Not even those in the Legion want to go outside.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Hanji says, sporting a ridiculous pout while pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Her passion for studying lycanthropes knows no boundary,” Erwin says as he gets up from his chair, ready to leave. “As for you, Eren, to answer your previous question regarding your role in the Legion…”

Eren sits up straighter, hands on his lap to prevent showing too much excitement. “Sir?”

“Starting first thing tomorrow evening, you’ll begin your training,” Eren’s grin hurts his cheeks until Erwin finishes, “in class.”

Eren deflates, put off by the others’ muffled snickering. “Class?”

Walking over to the fireplace, Erwin busies himself with reorganizing the pieces on a chessboard. “Wars are hardly fought with swords anymore, we’re not barbarians.”

“Some of us are,” Aurou mumbles, but is ignored.

“Diplomacy is just as important as being able to defend yourself in midst of a fight. Our battlegrounds are different now. Courtrooms, offices, private quarters,” Erwin lets the sentence drop when he notices Eren squirm. “What is it?”

“Does that mean I’ll be taught to read?” Eren’s grateful for the lack of reaction from the commander, and everyone else too engrossed in their own conversations to have heard him. He doesn’t like the pitiful look Erwin is giving him, though.

“I’ll personally see to that,” he says, and Eren figures he doesn’t exactly mean that he’ll teach Eren himself.

Picking up a piece from the chessboard, he throws it at Rivaille, who catches it without having to look up from the papers he’s signing. When he finally glances down at the piece, Rivaille turns to Erwin with a puzzled look. Or, at least, according to Eren, he _thinks_ it’s a puzzled look.

Erwin nods his head once, and turns for the door. “He’s your charge,” he says, and surprisingly, Rivaille doesn’t argue. “Make sure gets settled in well and proper.”

“Leaving already?” Hanji says, probably paying more attention to the conversation than she initially let on.

“Judge Zackly will most likely require Dawk’s presence as well as mine. I don’t think he’s too pleased with either of us at the moment.”

Eren figures that despite the trial being over, there are still loose ends that need tying. The Royal Police have dug themselves into a pit of trouble, and it’s only obvious that the Legion’s leader should be present if measures are to be taken. The thought that Eren is the root of all the trouble makes his stomach bubble with guilt.

“You’ll learn about your place here soon enough,” Erwin tells him, turning grim. “I don’t envy the weight that will be placed upon your shoulders, Eren, but I’m proud to have you on our side. It will be an honor serving with you.”

Unsure of what to say, Eren mutters, “Thank you, sir.” It’s probably the wrong thing to say, but he figures it’s better than staying quiet.

“Now, keep an eye on them for me,” he says, and Eren ducks his head to smile in embarrassment. This Erwin is starkly different from the cold and calculating commander that stood at the tribunal, bargaining his fate. This Erwin is smiling at him.

Once the door closes behind Erwin, the room let’s go of a collective sigh that startles Eren. “Glad that’s over,” Erd says, pulling out a bottle from underneath the crate he’s been sitting on. “Let’s have a celebratory drink, shall we?”

The room turns lively, everyone suddenly moving about with careless cheer as they pull out glasses from the cupboard.

Eren is perplexed. He understands that being respectful is important in the presence of authority, but this is just ridiculous. However, he doesn’t complain when Gunther slams a glass in front of him, and Aurou pours him a drink.

Hanji holds up her filled glass, but says nothing until Petra has served Rivaille his own drink, against his wishes. “A toast,” she says at last, “to our newest private.”

The chink of glass makes Eren give a genuine smile before trying to down his glass in one go, which results in a coughing fit when the liquor slowly burns his throat raw. Gunther pats him strongly on the back, and Eren pushes the glass away with tears beading at the edge of his eyes. Alcohol is definitely something he can do without.

❖

When Eren discovers that the Legion’s headquarters is within Wall Sina, he becomes nauseous. For years he’s heard of the fantastical tales weaved by his companions, and during more recent times, Armin. It’s suddenly clear why those around him dress so finely, and he is left feeling insecure. With nothing to wear but the clothes on his back, months’ worth of grime accumulated under his fingernails, hair so long and dirty he fears its color will lighten once he washes it… He’s the poster boy for street trash.

He feels terrible as is, riding in the same carriage as Rivaille and Hanji.

Hanji’s unfazed by the sheer filth on his skin, poking and prodding as she sits next to him, talking incessantly about the things the physician has done and things she will never do without Eren’s explicit consent. “I’m a scientist, not a savage.” That eases Eren’s anxieties just a little.

Dawn is fast approaching when the gates of Sina come into view.

“I still don’t understand what’s what,” Eren says, scratching at his elbow. “Is everyone a vampire? I heard wraiths being mentioned but… I never heard of vampires being actual, tangible creatures while I was in the hospital.”

“Oh, that’s because we’re the Walls’ best kept secret,” she says, tapping a finger against her chin. “We and humans coexist, they just… don’t know about us. Or, well, they know about us, just not that we’re chiropters.”

“Chiropters?”

“That’s the official name. You have the lycanthropes and the chiropters, but it’s easier to just say vampires and werewolves.”

Eren scoffs, and the gesture earns him a glare from Rivaille. “I’m having a rough time believing all of this. I’m a werewolf under the care of vampires.”

“In the middle of an age-long war,” she says, placing a hand over Eren’s knee. “It’s just a matter of getting used to.”

“I’m guessing I’ll be your newest weapon, huh?”

“More than that, actually. Through you, we’re hoping to discover what makes lycans tick. We aim to discover a weakness, learn their strengths, and find a cure.”

“Why do you think this can be cured?”

“If you can contract it, you can cure it.”

“And if you’re born with it?” Eren says, mostly because he’s unsure of why he is a werewolf. He doesn’t remember ever coming in contact with one until the attack on St. Chlorba, so he assumes it is something he was born with.

Hanji hums thoughtfully. “One of the mysteries I hope to crack soon enough.”

“And what about you guys? Is there a cure for vampirism?”

“Maybe,” she says, shrugging. “But nobody wants to turn back into a human once they’ve been bit.” Eren lifts an eyebrow. “It isn’t fun being immortal,” she continues with a smile. “You’ll see why in due time.”

The carriage slows to a stop, and Eren pops his head out the window to appreciate the towering wall. There isn’t much to see in the dead of night though, even with the dim gaslamp hanging in the carriage, but he can make out the outline of Sina’s crest on the gates. His stomach flutters at the thought of what lies beyond it.

“Why Sina?” he asks, still looking out the window. It’s a stupid question once he thinks it over, but it’s already out there. Being this used to luxury he wouldn’t even dream of living in the outer wall, even when their missions require them to go beyond.

“Not exactly Sina,” Hanji says, grinning from ear to ear. “We have a super secret lair under the city.”

Attention caught, Eren straightens up on his seat. “Under the city?”

“Headquarters is just beneath the capital city,” she explains. “Convenient, in case we run out of supplies, medical or otherwise. Underground channels will take us right outside the walls, enabling us to export specimens without endangering the humans above ground. Plus, we can work around the clock without worrying about the sun.”

“That’s… wow,” is the only thing Eren can think of saying. It’s brilliant. “And… assuming it’s a school I have to attend—”

“Above ground,” she interrupts.

Eren swallows around the knot in his throat. Whether he wants to or not, he’ll be exposed to others of the capital. He has to _attend class_ with others from the capital.

The carriage starts moving again, and Eren’s curiosity is nearly gone, leaving nothing but self-doubt in its wake.

“Eren Jaeger,” Rivaille says, reading from the papers he’s been going through since leaving the courthouse. “Private of the Reconnaissance Legion under the command of Captain Rivaille, and member of the 104th class of the king’s military academy. Under the jurisdiction of the crown, you are of prime importance and are to be protected at all cost.” Turning the paper over, he hands it over to Eren. “Congratulations, you officially have more titles than I do.”

If that’s Rivaille’s idea of a joke, it’s a very poor one.

Taking the paper, along with the pen Hanji gives him, Eren looks down at it with a frown. The only thing he understands, written in bold ink, is his first name, and even that proves difficult to read with all the curls and twists.

“You’re supposed to sign it,” Hanji says. “Since you’re of age, a contract stating that you agree to become Rivaille’s ward is necessary. It’s a dated procedure, but it’s a requirement given the circumstances.”

Eren nods in understanding, but doesn’t take the pen to the paper just yet. “I’ve never signed anything before.”

Rivaille looks at him steadily. “Your mark should be enough.”

Relief tastes sweet at the absence of mockery. He keeps expecting to be ridiculed at one point or another, but time and time again he’s greeted with patience. “I can spell my name.”

“That can do,” he says, before returning to organize the papers into a beige folder.

Clumsily, Eren scribbles his first name on the dotted line, ignoring that it looks terrible beside Rivaille’s fancier cursive. The jostling of the carriage over cobblestone streets doesn’t help. Once satisfied, he hands the contract back to Rivaille.

“Here we are,” Hanji announces with a dreamy sigh.

It takes Eren a moment to pry his eyes away from the captain, but when he does, it’s hard to hold back an awed gasp. The courthouse may have been beautiful with its antique spires and castle-like qualities, but the estate that comes into view just outside the carriage leaves Eren breathless. Elegant and quaint, Eren wonders if he’s walked into a dream.

And to think, just over a week ago, he didn’t even have a last name.


	5. Domicilium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rivaille strives to make Eren pass as a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update for a somewhat shorter chapter. This week has been extremely rough on me and I didn't want to break the habit of updating every week, so here you have it, folks. Nothing too exciting happens in this chapter, but uh, some shippiness goes down, so there's that.

Eren figures that he will be able to stop crying at some point or another. He’s embarrassed by the amount of times he’s broken down in front of his new peers, but he has hardly been so overwhelmed throughout his entire lifetime in order to be able to control himself now. This time around, Eren is able to minimize it to tiny sniffles hidden behind his sleeve.

The fact that his quarters are directly below the sprawling estate, away from the obscene extravagance that decorates the mansion’s foyer, doesn’t bother Eren in the slightest – not when he realizes that he too has been treated to luxury all his own.

The room may have previously been a dungeon, complete with shackles still hanging from the stone walls and iron bars, but there is a bed big enough for Eren to roll around on without running the risk of falling off. Beside it is a small table that hosts a lamp and several books. Across the room is a grandiose looking chest, its antique locks neatly set on top of the lid.

It’s cozy, warm, and oddly personal despite the gloom. A thousand times better than the generic cell he has slept in for all his life.

“Lights out at seven, and they come back on at five,” Rivaille says, standing to the side as Eren moves across his new room, inspecting up to the smallest corner. “Class starts at eight o’clock sharp.”

“School’s above ground, right?” The question is rhetorical, and by Rivaille’s silence, he assumes he gets it. “Um,” turning towards Rivaille, Eren scratches the back of his head. “What should I wear?”

Rivaille, who is leaning against a wall in a casual slump, looks Eren over with a bluntly revolted look. “That chest over there is full of clothing that should fit you: casual wear, pajamas. You’ll be given your uniform in several hours.”

Relief cools the tension in Eren’s gut when he hears it. “All right, so, Miss Hanji is working on permits,” Eren mumbles, more to himself than to Rivaille, as he walks over to the chest. He’s curious to see what’s in it, if it’s filled with fancy clothing similar to what Rivaille’s currently wearing. “What am I—?”

“ _Don’t touch that_ ,” Rivaille says, his tone barely above a hiss.

Eren stops moving, hand outstretched and eyes wide. “S-Sir?”

Rivaille trudges closer but keeps a good distance away, his nose turned upward as if something foul is being held underneath it. Something probably is, and that something is probably Eren.

“Your hands are filthy,” he says, confirming Eren’s suspicions. “I had everything in that chest washed and pressed the day before yesterday.”

Looking down at his hands, Eren frowns and wipes them on his shirt, which makes little difference. This causes Rivaille to make another disgusted sound. “Is there a washroom…?” he tries, scared of what Rivaille might say or do. “My hands _do_ need washing.”

“What you need is an extensive and thorough bath if you intend on mingling with others from the capital.” At Eren’s frown, Rivaille continues. “Grab some clean underwear and pajamas. It’s been a long day, so we’ll keep your level of activity down to a bare minimum.”

“But, you said…” Eren looks from Rivaille to his hands. “You said I shouldn’t touch anything.”

The glare Rivaille gives Eren is unimpressed. A true feat, how such an inexpressive face can actually be this expressive. Rivaille says nothing as he breezes past Eren and throws the chest open, neatly going through the perfectly folded mounds of clothing for what he needs. From stacks of white satin and beige cotton, Eren sees Rivaille pull out gray underwear and a matching undershirt, and a pair of blue, striped pajamas.

“Follow me,” he says, and Eren does just that.

They go up the stairs, until stone becomes carpet and they emerge to a tiny room that opens up into the main hallway of the Smith mansion.

The sun is out now, but the curtains have been drawn and candles lit. There’s a very small amount of people up and about still, and they pay them no heed as the hurry down the corridors.

Suits of armor, swords and shields, paintings and tapestries line the walls as they walk. They cross a dining room, a lounge equipped with a pool table, and a library that is most likely larger than the courtroom they were in earlier, before they arrive at their desired destination.

Eren wants nothing more than to walk off on his own and drink in the somber beauty of the mansion that serves as HQ’s front, but he’s too nervous to even wander away from Rivaille, who is currently having an argument with another man. He pays little attention to what they are saying.

When the man finally trudges away with a petulant huff, Rivaille starts walking again, and Eren struggles to keep up with his brisk pace. They take a left turn and go along until carpet becomes stone again, but they aren’t underground.

Pulling open a wooden door, Rivaille steps aside and gestures with his hand for Eren to step inside the room. He does so, finding himself surprised to the point of speechlessness once more.

“Don’t get used to it,” Rivaille says, shutting the door behind him and sliding the bolt home. “Communal showers are underground. Those are the ones you will be using during the rest of your stay.”

The bathroom they currently stand in does not fall short compared to the rest of the estate. Cream colored walls blend in nicely with the ivory amenities and gold detailing. Eren never knew a bathtub could be described as elegant. The only window in the room also has its curtain drawn, and Rivaille has to light more candles to dismiss the gloom.

It’s stuffier in here than it is in any other part of the mansion, but a step closer to the tub shows Eren that it is caused by the hot water. Swirls of steam rise up, making him run the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe away the beginning of perspiration.

Beside the tub is a stool with a stack of clean towels on top of it. Rivaille places Eren’s change of clothes over said towels.

Eren wonders if this is Rivaille’s personal bathroom, but he somehow doubts it. Despite its pristine surface, its smell is too clinical, more like a hospital, and the thought makes Eren shiver unpleasantly. It lacks that unique scent Rivaille always carries with him like an aura.

“I don’t have all day,” he says, casting Eren a blank look, one that seems to be his default expression.

Eren fidgets where he stands at the center of the room. 

He has never had any trouble taking his clothes off in front of his nurses or doctors, but now he’s feeling extremely self-conscious. With Rivaille standing not five feet in front of him, it’s practically impossible for Eren to strip down and slip into the bathtub.

Luckily for him, Rivaille picks up on it. When he turns away to rummage through a medicine cabinet, Eren takes the moment to hurriedly remove his clothing and clumsily climb into the steaming water. He gasps and hisses at the overly-hot temperature, but forces himself in anyways.

Shortly after, he realizes that there isn’t much need for modesty. Water is clear, after all. Rivaille can still see everything when he looms over the tub with a bottle in hand. 

The tips of his ears burning, Eren tries his best to cover himself with his hands. Rivaille is kind enough to not comment on his embarrassment, and instead pours some of the bottle’s content by Eren’s feet before turning the spout’s knob. More hot water pours into the tub, and to Eren’s delight, a wall of suds begins to emerge.

He lets himself sink further into the water until the first batch of bubbles bumps into his chin and tickle his lips. He wiggles his toes and flexes his fingers, shimmies until his back is comfortably propped against the curve of the tub’s side. Now that his body has gotten used to the temperature of the water, Eren hums with pure delight. It feels pleasant enough for him to fall asleep and dream happy dreams. His muscles relax, the tension along his shoulders bleeds away, and he finds himself smiling into the bubbles that have now taken over the entire surface.

When the sound of rushing water stops, Eren looks up and is instantly mortified at the sight of Rivaille undressing.

He places his jacket on a hanger and hangs it on a peg installed behind the door. Next is his cravat, which he loops over the same hanger. Kicking off his shoes, he places them beside the door, and neatly folds his socks before dumping them into a basket. He works his suspenders off his shoulders and lets them hang by his sides, before undoing the buttons on his sleeves. To Eren’s relief, or maybe disappointment, Rivaille doesn’t remove his shirt. Instead, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and pops open the first two buttons closest to his neck.

Commander Smith may be extravagantly handsome, but there is something about Rivaille that sets butterflies aflutter in Eren’s stomach.

Eren watches as Rivaille picks up the stack of towels and clothing from the stool, and places it on a shelf. When he walks back, he takes the stool with him, and places it in front of the tub, where Eren’s head rests. All Eren has to do is look up in order to see him.

He regrets doing so, however, because Rivaille is suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him under the water.

Eren’s hands scramble over the porcelain edges, thinking that he is going to drown, but he is quickly pulled to the surface again. He gasps for air, spluttering suds from his mouth and hacking up the water he accidentally swallowed. He’s about to lash out, but Rivaille shoves a small towel into his hand.

Using it to wipe soap off his face, Eren decides it’s difficult to glare when suds sting your eyes.

Unbothered, Rivaille doesn’t speak when he takes another bottle from the assortment sitting beside the bathtub, and squeezes a healthy amount of syrupy substance onto the top of Eren’s head.

“I can do it myself,” Eren says, trying and failing not to sound petulant. “I’m not a child.” But the words die away when Rivaille’s fingers dig into his scalp.

He winces whenever he tugs at a knot, but otherwise, it feels heavenly. At one point, Eren feels more nails than fingertips, but he figures it’s required in order to work out all of the excess dirt and grease.

Rivaille strokes his hand along Eren’s hairline to keep soap from falling into his eyes, and guides his fingers through soaked locks before rubbing at the hair along his nape. He repeats the motion time after time, alternating between that and scrubbing behind Eren’s ears. 

It takes all of the willpower Eren wasn’t aware of having to keep himself from moaning.

A hand eventually wedges between the tub and his back, pushing him a slight bit forward. Instead of shoving him under the water again, Rivaille uses a tin cup filled with clean water to rinse out his hair. The gentleness of it makes Eren’s skin erupt with goosebumps.

Shifting back into position, Eren is aware that his hair is dripping water onto the floor, and by extension, Rivaille’s feet, but the man doesn’t complain. Eren watches him get up from the stool – a different bottle in hand – move to the side of the tub, and kneel.

Unsure of what he’s about to do, Eren offers him a grateful smile that isn’t returned. However, the bliss of the moment quickly dives into a valley of distress.

Rivaille tears the small towel Eren is still clutching from his hand and dips it into the tub. Wringing out the excess water, Rivaille pours floral-scented soap onto it.

“Sir, I can honestly do this myself,” Eren tries again, already inching his hand towards the sudsy cloth. Rivaille’s stare makes his hand drop back into the water.

Eren is torn between nervousness and happiness when the towel slides down his chest.

He understands that this is purely out of necessity, that Rivaille is doing this because Eren needs to be presentable after a lifetime of hiding in a metaphorical cave, but that knowledge doesn’t change the fact that Eren is a hormonal teenager that has never been touched without any clothes on. Experiments don’t count. That fact that it is Rivaille doing the touching doesn’t help one bit.

Eren tenses while Rivaille scrubs him clean, not missing a single nook or cranny. From behind his ears to his armpits; between his toes makes Eren giggle. Along his calves and behind his knees, it’s at this point, when Rivaille is slowly making his way up Eren’s inner thigh that mortification peaks.

For a brief moment Eren entertains the thought of stopping him, but he then realizes that this is all just wishful thinking. Rivaille wouldn’t really wash him _there_. The man is far too prim and proper for such a thing, despite his foul language and complete disregard for manners when he doesn’t feel like abiding by them.

Eren would have been stunned silent if he weren’t so busy clamping a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a gasp when the towel in Rivaille’s hand swabs over his scrotum. 

He squeezes his eyes shut when the hand roughly wraps around his length and strokes upward, just once. And just like that, the towel moves into safer territory, rubbing along Eren’s stomach and sides.

Eren’s hands are left trembling, his erection throbbing for something he shouldn’t want.

“You ought to tend to that,” Rivaille says, his face giving away no indication of any sort of feeling, be it discomfort or otherwise.

It’s aggravating. “I’d rather not.”

“When you’re a soldier, you’ll often find yourself in the position where you’ll have to do much worse in front of bigger crowds.”

Eren’s eyes widen at the implication, but a part of him thinks that he would rather masturbate in front of an entire crowd rather than do so under Rivaille’s clinical stare. He hopes Rivaille will turn away, or walk out, give him some space to take care of himself, but no dice.

Instead, Rivaille’s hand rests over Eren’s neck, towel missing, and his thumb pressed to Eren’s fluttering pulse. 

The confusion of what he’s doing is lifted once Eren realizes the implication of his hold when he remembers what Rivaille is. Like the dab of a nose to his neck, his fingertips are relishing the promise of blood just underneath his skin. He can’t find it in him to be scared though, the throbbing between his legs robbing him of his self-preservation.

Eren wonders if it would hurt, and if the pain would be worth it. Biting his neck will definitely force Rivaille to press his mouth to Eren’s skin. Do vampires even do that? After all, Eren knows little to nothing about them, and the tales of sucking blood from their victim’s neck may well be just a silly story meant to frighten.

Much to Eren’s displeasure, Rivaille pulls the plug from the bathtub, and hands him a bucket to rinse off the suds.

“You’ll need a haircut,” he says, signaling for Eren to hurry up.

Groaning with high levels of frustration, Eren nods and hurriedly rinses himself off. He nearly slips and falls in his hurry to put on his fresh pajamas, and tries to avidly ignore the tent in his pants.

❖

One awkwardly silent haircut later, Eren can’t believe how _clean_ he is. He now looks less like a stray dog and more like a semi-passable human, even in his pajamas.

When he’s handed his uniform, he feels like royalty.

The body length mirror in front of him reflects a dashing young man, if he does say so himself. Easy fitting pants fall just right over polished shoes, and the crisp button down underneath a tan jacket accents his figure quite nicely. On each shoulder, and over his breast pocket, is an embroidered badge: two entwining wings, one black and one white. It’s the emblem of the Reconnaissance Legion, and it fills Eren with a distinct sense of pride that is powerful enough to eclipse the undertones of frustration still edging on his thoughts.

“How do I look, Captain?” he asks, holding out his arms for Rivaille to get a better look.

The captain, however, is busy looking elsewhere when he answers. “Bearable.”

Eren frowns, but isn’t put off by his remark. He’s looking down at the chess piece Erwin had given him.

Turning back towards the mirror, Eren busies himself with adjusting the collar of his shirt. He figures it’s a good time as any to bring it up, now that they are both alone and vaguely discussing the subject of school. “How does school work, exactly?”

Rivaille tucks the chess piece in the pocket inside his jacket. “Sit down for eight hours and memorize what the teachers say. It’s so easy, a dog can do it.”

Eren rolls his eyes when he is certain that Rivaille isn’t watching him. “Yeah, I know that. But, what’ll we be learning about?”

“How to speak, for one,” Rivaille quips, giving Eren a strange look. “Economics, history, general mathematics, science, politics—”

“How to read and write?” Eren braces himself for any kind of ridicule, but Rivaille simply stops talking. “I mean, I know the basic stuff. I can sound out words; maybe write sentences if I have the time.”

“They never taught you at St. Chlorba.” It isn’t a question, but Eren shakes his head regardless. “You wrote your name on the contract.”

“A friend of mine taught me how to write it. He’s been trying to get me to read more often, but… I snapped at him a lot, so, he kind of… slowed down on his lessons?”

Rivaille’s stare is steady, but then he nods, and almost smiles. “You don’t like being corrected.”

“Do _you?_ ”

Without answering, Rivaille stands up from his place on the divan. He walks across the parlor to pick up a book that sits on a small table, and briefly waves it. “It sounds to me like you can read, you just don’t practice enough.”

Eren is unsure if he is relieved or troubled by this revelation. He doubts that taking ten tries and five minutes to sound out a seven letter word qualifies as being able to read. He’s not even taking cursive into account. “Will they help me get better?”

“No,” Rivaille says. “They won’t.”

Eren feels his stomach drop. “But, I thought school—”

“Lower levels teach the basics of reading and writing. You’re thirteen years too late.”

Turns out that not even a bath and new clothing can alter the reality of what Eren is. Not a werewolf, but an illiterate child stuck in a young man’s body. He’s not worth the effort, and he is definitely not worth putting the Legion’s reputation on the line.

“Fortunately,” Rivaille continues, dragging Eren away from the pit of his thoughts. “Written exams are at the end of the semester, and no one ever bothers reading or turning in their assignments this late in the game.” Eren blinks, unable to understand where he’s getting at. “This gives you five months to polish your skills.”

Eren narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Wouldn’t that be irresponsible? Not turning in my assignments? Won’t I be graded?”

“Would you rather have good grades or blend in with the rest of your classmates? It won’t matter as long as you ace your final exam.”

Rivaille sets the book down on the divan when a man walks into the parlor muttering a soft apology. In his hands, he carries a silver tray with an assortment of cookies and a teapot. Placing it on the longer table before the mirror, the man bows, and takes his leave.

Eren dislikes the smell of the tea, but he doesn’t comment on it when Rivaille begins preparing a cup for each of them.

“More lies, then,” he mumbles to himself, and isn’t at all surprised when Rivaille looks up at him with a silent command for him to continue. “At the court…”

“Our hierarchy is far from perfect,” Rivaille says, dropping two sugar cubes into Eren’s cup and placing it on a saucer. “In fact, I dare say we’re all a bunch of corrupt fuckers with little regard for the rules. Considering the rules are shit.”

Eren gawks, still unused to Rivaille’s cruder side. “Sir?”

“This entire world is built on appearances, Jaeger, and the Legion is an ugly scar on an otherwise glamorous façade. The higher-ups don’t like what we do, despite our jobs being necessary. They’re all a bunch of conniving assholes, so, when in Rome, and all of that.”

Taking his saucer and a cookie, Eren moves over to sit on the divan. Rivaille goes back to finishing up his own cup. “Lying is necessary,” Eren says, frowning at his tea. He doesn’t like the sound of it one bit. As if the situation isn’t shady enough.

“We’ve done far worse than lie.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, whether you like it or not, you are now a part of this clusterfuck of an issue. Which means there are rules for you to follow.”

Eren takes a tentative sip of his tea and grimaces at the taste. He tries his best to hide his disgust by smiling and nodding his head, but Rivaille isn’t buying it.

“Absolutely no one is to know what you are,” he says, sitting on the large chair and crossing his legs at the knee. “Figure out a back story, never tell them the truth of how you got here. No fights or I will personally beat you half to death.”

Eren takes that last one to heart. He nods, because it could be worse. It hits him just how lucky he is. This life is far more appealing than execution in the long run.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it, kid,” Rivaille says, and Eren starts.

“How did you…?”

“You’re an open book.”

“Still, I’m _here_. It’s amazing how everything just… happened, sir. How I’m here. It’s as if—”

“As if some higher power were moving the pieces into place,” he says, and the way his eyes slant makes Eren uneasy. “You still think you’re here by pure chance?”

 _There’s no such thing as fairy tales and miracles_ , Eren can almost hear the words decorating his tone. “This was…” Eren can’t believe he ever thought otherwise. “This was all planned.”

“Not all of it. The hospital’s siege was unprecedented, but it proved useful in our favor in the end. Erwin has a tendency to see well and beyond what can and can’t happen.”

Eren places his saucer on the table, unbelieving. “Getting captured?”

“He was counting on it.”

The improbability of anyone predicting anything in that way is unthinkable. The fact that Erwin is capable of doing so only worsens the sense of dread and fear his presence provokes.

“This is insane,” Eren mumbles, threading his fingers together. 

“Insanity is the Legion’s trademark,” Rivaille says, his voice as flat and humorless as ever.

They fall into a tense silence, Rivaille solemnly sipping at his tea while Eren forcefully downs his own.

An itch manifests itself under his skin, making him squirm in his seat. This new knowledge leaves him teetering over the edge of desperation. A matter of days ago, his life was simple. Harsh, cruel, and painful, yes, but it was easy. He knew how things worked, what he could and couldn’t do. Eren knew the people around him. He was human and so were his friends.

Now, the entire world as he knows it has been turned inside out, with monsters thrown into the fray. He is being forced to forge a lie and live it. He will be forced to walk on eggshells for the following six months, someone as tactless and clumsy and short-tempered as him.

“Learn how to deal with it,” Rivaille says, partly into his cup.

Eren figures it’s the only thing he can do.

❖

Adding to the list of never-ending surprises, it turns out that ‘lights out at seven’ actually means seven in the _morning_. Having to alter his sleeping schedule is going to prove difficult, especially when the clock strikes eleven in the morning and Eren isn’t the least bit tired. After the hot bath, breakfast (or is it supper?), and tea, he’s feeling refreshed and a tad bit calmer, but not sleepy.

Rivaille’s silence at his complaints is scarier than the glares he is capable of giving, so Eren cuts it off shortly after he starts.

The mansion is now desolate, Eren’s footsteps sounding thunderous as they cross the carpeted floors to the underground passage. Rivaille is quiet; not even the rustle of fabric can be heard as he moves. It is equal parts unnerving and mesmerizing.

“Captain, how do you choose who gets to join the Legion?”

They reach the staircase just then and Eren steps behind Rivaille as they make their way down into the dungeons. Certain that he has said something wrong, Eren doesn’t ask again.

At one point, Hanji crosses paths with them, and Eren tries not to laugh at the sight of her in pajamas. She is far too energetic when everybody else is already asleep, but tuning into the mostly one-sided conversation, it turns out she has been in the laboratory rather than her bedroom.

“I made you this,” she says, handing Eren a flask. “Just a little something to help you get some shuteye.”

Before Eren can grab it, Rivaille is snatching it from her hold. “What is this?”

Instead of looking affronted, Hanji grins and pushes her glasses up her nose. “It’s just milk dashed with honey and cinnamon. Perfect for a good night’s sleep.”

Apparently not taking her word for it, Rivaille unscrews the flask and takes a whiff. Satisfied with what he smells, he caps it and hands it over to Eren.

“Thanks, Miss Hanji,” he says, relishing in the warm surface of the flask against cold fingers. He’s never had warm milk before, but he remembers Armin mentioning it once. Good for upset stomachs, too.

“Don’t mention it, Eren.” Clasping her hands together, she turns on her heels. “You two have a good night, now.”

“Goodnight!” Eren calls out with an unsure smile that fades when Rivaille walks away from him without acknowledging Hanji at all.

“One enlists,” Rivaille says out of the blue, once they’ve reached Eren’s chamber.

“Huh?” When Eren remembers his previous question, he nods. “But I didn’t enlist, and I’m here. True, I guess you guys had to pull some strings and stuff.” Stepping inside his cell, Eren turns in time to see Rivaille drive the iron bars shut. Even as a blatant prisoner, he feels more comfortable here than at St. Chlorba. “Does the Legion accept recommendations?”

After sliding the bolts into place, and jamming the locks shut, Rivaille looks up at him. “Who do you plan on recommending?”

The question is sarcastic, but Eren figures it’s better than no reply at all. “I have a friend.” It’s difficult to keep a straight face at Rivaille’s raised eyebrow, but Eren swallows down the urge to snort, simply because he values his life. “His name is Armin Arlert and—”

“This isn’t a clubhouse,” Rivaille says, turning away from Eren.

“Honestly, sir! He’s smart, like, really _really_ smart. He’s beat the hospital’s director at chess every time since he got there!” His words fall on deaf ears, the dungeon doors slamming shut in Rivaille’s wake. “Captain!”

When nothing but the echo of his voice answers, Eren slumps against the bars of his cell. He swore to get Armin out of there, and he will, no matter what it takes.

Pushing himself away, Eren removes his new uniform and slips into another pair of clean pajamas, having left the ones he wore a few hours earlier at the parlor. He makes sure to fold his uniform as careful as possible, but he’s certain it will still be wrinkled come wake-up call.

Eren sits on his bed and uncaps the flask, smelling it before even venturing for a taste. It smells sweet and warm, and that alone is pleasant enough. A tentative sip makes him hum with delight, and it is cool enough to swallow all in one go. He’s unused to tasting things so flavorful, and he loves it all more. The milk tastes undoubtedly better than the tea Rivaille served him earlier.

Placing the empty flash on his bedside table, Eren dims the lanterns until they’ve shut off, and slips into his new bed.

This is home now, and it is going to take a while to get used to that thought. Everything is still new and bizarre. Not a single thing is not blown out of proportion to overwhelming levels. It’s still better, Eren decides, than the repetitive nothingness that was his life at St. Chlorba. He misses Armin ferociously, true enough, but this taste of hesitant and guarded freedom is intoxicating.

As is Rivaille.

Eren hums to himself when his legs begin to feel heavy, his fingers too comfortable to move from where they are over the mattress. He has somehow gone from _very awake_ to _very sleepy_ very quickly, but it doesn’t trouble him. He feels _fantastic_. He feels…

Eren feels the tip of Rivaille’s nose pressed to his neck. He feels cold fingertips gently pressing to his pulse. He feels Rivaille’s hand between his legs, touching him, stroking him.

Eren feels until his eyes fall shut, and the world melts away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wanted to thank everyone who has been kind enough to leave kudos and drop reviews! I'm so sorry I'm so spectacularly awkward when it comes to replying to those. Heh. See you next week. ~


	6. Educatio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to take some pretty heavy historical liberties here, and I don't only mean slang wise. Anyhoo, we finally get to see some more characters pop up. And, as always, thank you for the kind reviews. ~ Happy Valentine's, everybody! ❤

_The corridor Eren stands in is bathed in hues of orange and red; the setting sun inviting shadows to dance along weathered stone. A soft wind ruffles his cloak as he runs a hand through his hair to comb it back, preventing it from falling in his eyes. He’s tired and sore, and resigned peace roots him to the spot._

_The world around him moves in a way it only does in dreams. Scents are different. His thoughts and words have no coherency. Eren can’t tell who the silhouette walking away from him belongs to._

_“We’ve been ordered to evacuate the castle,” Eren hears himself say, but his mouth never moves. “We have to go.”_

_The silhouette drifts into the rising darkness, leaving nothing but the clang and clatter of metal in its wake. “I dispatched the order myself, Eren,” it says, and the voice leaves a dull ache in his chest._

_“Why are you still here?”_

_“Buying time.”_

_Eren nods and starts towards the same darkness the silhouette disappeared into. He holds fast to the weapons by his side, afraid that the rattling might alert the monsters lurking just outside the castle walls. “Then I’ll stay with you, sir.”_

_“Don’t be a brat,” the voice says, but the shadow of a person eventually stops, waiting for Eren to catch up. “I doubt you’d want to see this.”_

_The ache in Eren’s chest grows. “We’ve been through much together. It wouldn’t be fair for me to leave you behind.” Walking side by side now, Eren heaves a sigh. “Not when this will be the last chance I’ll get to be by your side.”_

_The shadow beside Eren hums a thoughtful note, and then chuckles. “Remember when you were fifteen and the thought of death scared you?”_

_“Not really. Wasn’t it the opposite?”_

_“You had little regard for your life, true, but you clung to the fear of losing your loved ones.” Two names are mentioned, neither of which Eren recalls, but he nods anyway._

_“Guess nothing’s really changed, if that’s the case,” Eren says, looking to the person beside him. For a moment, he craves to touch that shadow, maybe run a hand through its hair. The ache in his chest worsens._

_“Soldiers before people,” the silhouette says, drawing both swords from their sheath._

_“Remember that one time you said we couldn’t regret the choices we’ve made?” Eren releases a shuddering sigh when they mount a spiral staircase leading to the castle’s roof. Outside, he can hear the moaning and groaning of creatures out to devour them. “There’s one thing I’ll always regret.”_

_“No need to sound like you’re about to die, Jaeger.”_

_“I never got the chance to kiss you,” he blurts out without a second thought. He’s about to face imminent death, what harm can it do?_

_The shadow stops at the very last step, its hands ready to push open the wooden door. It lingers for a moment, and in the darkness of the staircase, Eren can admire the outline of a form he knows well. The white pants, the tan jacket, the intricate system of belts, and dark hair falling into eyes he can’t really see. Eren knows this voice, knows this person, and the fact that he can’t put a face to them upsets him._

_“Soldiers before people,” the person says once more, their voice quiet and soft. “Find anyone of your squad willing to make a final stand. Meet me in the courtyard. We’ll ride out in ten.”_

_“But…”_

_“That’s an order.”_

_Eren stares hard, desperate to catch a glimpse. “Yes, sir.”_

❖

Waking from the dream leaves Eren with a hollow feeling deep in his gut. He’s woken up an hour before wakeup call, so he spends the time sitting on the edge of his bed, wallowing in a melancholy that is out of place. A nightmare leaves him feeling jittery for the rest of the day, but dreams like this one are something else entirely.

Maybe it’s due to the concoction Hanji gave him, which he is now certain was more than just milk with honey and cinnamon, but he’s nauseous. His head feels light and his mouth filled with cotton.

Every time he repeats the dream in his mind, a new chunk fades from his memory no matter how desperately he tries to hang on to it. The dream had felt similar to the hallucination back at St. Chlorba, during the attack.

Eren’s movements are sluggish as he changes out of his pajamas and into his uniform in the darkness of his chamber. He doesn’t feel like turning on the lamps. He longs for another bath, he also needs to relieve himself, but he only just notices that there aren’t any amenities of the sort in his cell. He’ll have to wait until someone comes to let him out.

Mood sour, Eren finally turns on a lamp and sits on the chair beside his bed.

If Armin were here, he’d talk Eren through the hopeless feeling in his chest. He’d say that it’s probably just anxiety, what with school starting today and all of that, Eren was just nervous. _Nothing some oatmeal can’t fix. That’ll make you sick for entirely different reasons._

Eren smiles despite himself. He misses Armin so fiercely he could cry, but he has done enough of that lately. He’ll suck it up and face the day like the adult he is being forced to become.

Not long after, the main door to the lower level opens. Torchlight spills into the dim lighting of the dungeons, but instead of seeing Rivaille, someone else has come to fetch him. It takes Eren a moment to put a name to him, but at the sight of a cravat tied snug around his neck, Eren groans internally.

“Well, nice to see that you’re already up,” Aurou says, taking the ring of keys from his belt. He places the torch in a slot on the wall. “I assume you’ve been informed of your schedule today.” Opening the locks, Aurou slides the gates into the wall and steps aside in a silent command for Eren to follow. “Right?”

Shutting off his lamp to conserve fuel, Eren follows him out. “I was only informed when I would be attending class, sir.”

To Eren’s surprise, they don’t climb the stairs that lead to the mansion aboveground. Instead, they go through another door, one hidden in the shadows cast by said stairs. It’s a tight squeeze, but once they have walked across the tiny hallway, Eren huffs out an incredulous laugh.

The passage leads to a large common room that is just as richly decorated as the rest of the estate. Around the dormant fireplace are divans and large pillows strewn over the carpeted floors. Banners carrying the same insignia as Eren’s uniform hang from the walls.

Aurou drags him through a complicated system of corridors and passages Eren knows he won’t remember for the life of him, until they reach the communal showers. Still elegant, but it can’t compare to the bathroom Rivaille had treated Eren to just this morning.

“Breakfast is in ten minutes,” Aurou says, looking himself over in the mirror and adjusting the brooch on his cravat. “So hurry up.”

Eren nods as Aurou steps outside, even though he’s sure the man doesn’t see it.

Looking for the nearest stall, Eren relieves himself with a shuddering sigh. He’ll have to bring up the need for a toilet in his quarters, if he’s to be locked in there for hours at a time.

Turning towards the sinks, Eren washes his hands and face as thoroughly as possible. It isn’t a shower, but he doesn’t reek, which he figures is a positive thing. Running a damp hand through his hair to flatten the unrulier lucks, a small box sitting on the sink farthest from the door catches his attention. Curiosity being one of Eren’s predominant weaknesses, and taking advantage of the lack of people present, he walks on over.

Small and rectangular, the box is wrapped in golden paper. A red ribbon rests on the lid. Eren understands that it’s meant to be a gift, which means it’s probably not meant for him and he should quickly put it right back down, but the slip of paper pinned beneath the ribbon catches his eye. His ability to read may be below average, but he can definitely recognize his name in an instant.

Perplexed, he pulls the red ribbon off the box to find a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste.

Eren blinks down at both items, and sighs. He hadn’t been expecting a carriage or anything overly pompous, but these make him want to laugh, and not in a bad way. Whoever left this here truly knew he would need it. Eren is rather certain this is from Hanji.

When Aurou knocks on the door, Eren quickly gets to brushing his teeth without soiling his uniform. Unsure of what to do when he's done, he tucks both things back into their box and places it in the pocket inside his jacket.

Eren heads outside with a grin, obnoxiously clicking his teeth together until Aurou barks at him to stop. Eren can’t help it. He’s never used such high grade toothpaste before, and the urge to go around huffing in people’s faces is too great, especially if it gets to drown out the stench of vampire.

Their next stop is the dining area, and Eren whistles as he steps inside. Just as classy as the upstairs dining room, only, this one is more rustic. Eren is reminded of one of the books Armin had shown him some time ago, one about the people called _Vikings_. Wood, fire, and long tables filled with food of all kinds. Eren’s mouth waters in an instant.

He slides into the only available chair he finds, between Gunther and a very tall blonde man who sniffs him the moment he sits down. Eren is a little perturbed by it, but he figures he smells rather well. At least, he thought he did, because the man twists his nose before turning back to his meal.

“Don’t mind Mike. He does that to everybody,” Hanji says, rushing to take the chair across from Eren the moment Erd abandons it, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Good morning, by the way.”

Eren offers the best smile he can muster, but he’s still feeling cranky after an uncomfortable night’s sleep. Gunther is kind enough to pass him a plate, and he gets to pick his breakfast from the silver trays spread out in front of him. “Good morning, ma’am.” After grabbing a roll of bread he adds, “Everyone.”

They all reply in a mumble, either too wrapped up in their meals or their own conversations.

“Tell me, how was your first night, hm? Did you sleep well? Anything strange happen? Hallucinations, nausea?”

Eren struggles to keep his smile up as he grabs a bunch of grapes and places them on his plate. Mike scoops some scrambled eggs and dumps it on his plate rather unceremoniously. Eren mutters his thanks before answering, “That wasn’t just honey and cinnamon, was it?”

“Why do you ask?”

He thinks about his reply for a moment before giving it. “It worked almost instantly. My arms and legs got really numb, really fast.”

Hanji hums and waves Erd away when he returns. “Served its purpose, though. Feeling rested?”

Eren nods, popping a grape into his mouth. The way it crunches and spurts juicy goodness makes him sigh happily.

Looking around the area as he eats, he tries his best to memorize the faces that still don’t have a name. Rivaille’s unit is sitting together at the same table, and he is glad he feels left out from the conversation around him. He has no idea what they are discussing, and he would rather not make a fool out of himself on the first day. The wary glances they all occasionally cast his way don’t go unnoticed.

“He’s upstairs,” Hanji says, gaining Eren’s attention. “He usually dines with Erwin whenever he’s at the estate.”

Eren nods his head again, shoving half a bread roll into his mouth in one go. If the remark after the hearing had been analyzed correctly, it is safe to assume that the captain and the commander have a deeper bond compared to the rest of their subordinates. Eren doesn’t know what to make of that. It does, however, make the food in his mouth taste sour.

“Does he ever join his squadron?” Eren asks, just to cover up any potential misunderstandings. Armin always tells him he’s far more expressive than he thinks, even if his words state otherwise.

“On occasion,” she says, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she stares at Eren. “You’ll get to see him more than the rest of us, since you’re his ward.” Her words are almost teasing, and Eren tries his best not to blush. “He does that to you.”

Placing the bread back down on his plate, Eren looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. Her manic smile has dimmed into a smile impossible to read. There’s really no way to gauge her thoughts through the filter of her glasses. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not him specifically, since we can all do that, but…” She picks a strawberry off Petra’s plate without the girl noticing. “I want you to tell me how you feel about everything, okay?”

Eren blinks at her, and now he is sure his face is red, if the burning of his cheeks is anything to go by. “Feel? About what?”

Before Hanji can speak, Aurou appears behind her, looking far too annoyed with everything. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he says, and sniffs down at her. “Jaeger’s gonna be late for class.”

Hanji looks up with a pout. “Ten more minutes.”

Aurou gives her a withering stare that tells Eren Hanji outranks him. “Maybe we can meet after class,” he tries, already getting to his feet and taking his plate. He’s nowhere near done, but if a superior tells him to move, he’ll move. Eren’s already treading on thin ice, simply by being what he is.

“Oh, all right,” she says, waving the two of them off with a smile capable of frightening children. “I’ll meet you at your chamber.”

Eren has no intention on following through with that, and so he avidly prays for something to pop up before then. “Have a nice day,” he offers, and quickly makes his way to deposit his plate by the service window. After he does so, he realizes that he’s drunk nothing. Looking back towards the table, he notices that no one else is drinking anything either. Not a pot or a cup in sight.

“Hurry up, will you?” Aurou prompts.

Swallowing around the scratchiness of his throat, Eren follows him out.

❖

“I’ll have you know, I’m only doing this because the captain said to,” Aurou says, hurriedly making his way back to the higher levels after Eren stops by his chamber again to drop off his gift.

The mansion is bustling with activity, but not a single face is familiar to Eren. He feels tiny when everyone turns to look at him when he walks by.

“It’s preposterous, keeping a mutt inside headquarters.” His rambles continue on and on until Eren manages to tune them out. The words don’t hurt as much as he expects them to, not when he has been exposed to years’ worth of degradation. Despite being the captain’s ward, Eren is still the enemy. “Worst idea ever mustered.”

Stepping outside the residence, Eren finds that the sun has already set, and he heaves in the crisp air. Rare blooms decorate the hedges and walkways. Statues of angels stand nestled among nicely trimmed brushes. There are benches and fountains in the deeper recesses of the gardens, hidden behind curtains of moss.

It’s all too lively and bright for an approaching winter.

Eren wishes he had a coat.

The academy may be within walking distance, but it’s a pretty long walk. He tries to keep himself from groaning when his feet begin to ache within his shoes, or pant when his lungs struggle for air. At least he’s not sweating, he decides, and the night breeze is strangely calming.

Adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, Eren tries to distract himself with the first thing he can find. Aurou isn’t of much use, too busy mumbling about how he would much rather be outside the walls slaying lycans rather than escorting them.

Eren is nervous about what he will find within the academy, if he’ll make friends or enemies on his first day. The only people he has ever been exposed to have been other children, sometimes younger than him, whose parents didn’t want them or have been deemed too dangerous to be kept outside in the open. Eren doubts he can approach cadets in the same fashion he approached other patients at St. Chlorba.

He’s a monster with absolutely no social skills thrown into the capital city not forty-eight hours after his release from his lifelong prison. At least, it can’t possibly get any worse. He hopes it can’t.

“Your materials will be waiting at your table,” Aurou says, turning onto a stone bridge. In the near distance, Eren can see the structure he assumes is the academy. “Erd will be here to escort you back once class is over.”

Stepping onto the academy’s courtyard, Eren starts to see that most of the buildings in Sina follow a similar pattern. Spires and cupolas, plenty of white and gray, and very large windows made of glass. It’s all very pretty, especially when light spills from the windows and casts rectangles across the grass, but it fails to keep his attention. He wants to see different things, not more of the same. The sights of the capital are so similar it feels like walking the halls of St. Chlorba, only on a much larger scale. It’s repetitive.

“You’ll be among humans, so be sure to keep your shitty behavior in check,” Aurou says, and Eren doesn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes. By this point it’s blatantly obvious the man is trying to imitate the captain, and failing spectacularly. “No use in telling you to blend in since you’ll most likely stick out like a sore thumb.”

Eren was never informed of being in the presence of humans, and he is unsure whether to be relieved or stressed. Hanji had mentioned vampires being a secret, but how much of a secret is unknown to him. Eren assumed that being a military academy means they host vampires in training, but apparently he is wrong.

The set of steps leading up to the academy’s main doors are crowded with students that ignore them as they walk past. All of them wear the same uniform Eren does, and that makes him glad. Maybe blending in won’t be so difficult after all.

Past the doors stand two prefects, the only thing telling them apart from the rest is the gold sash across their chest, riddled with an assortment of badges.

The prefect with the two-toned hair and bored expression approaches Eren first, clipboard in hand. “Name,” he says, not bothering to stifle a yawn.

“Eren Jaeger.”

The prefect stares down at the clipboard, scribbles something on it, and then leafs through the papers for a small card. He hands it to Eren. “Looks like we have a rookie in the 104th,” he says, and the other prefect – this one more pleasant looking, and with a spray of freckles across his cheeks – sneaks closer.

“I’m Marco,” says the one with the freckles, and politely extends his hand. “This is Jean. The three of us will be classmates, it seems.”

Eren looks down at the hand before shaking it. At least they don’t sound too bad.

Aurou’s hand lands on Eren’s shoulder hard enough to startle him. “Don’t do anything stupid,” is all he says, before turning away and heading out the same door they entered through.

As expected, Eren feels no better now that he’s gone. Looking down at his card, Eren frowns when all he sees is a mess of letters and an assortment of numbers indicating different times. No one told him about a schedule, and he figures he should have been expecting that.

“We’ll be sharing a schedule then, right?” he tries, and looks up at Marco with what he hopes is a confident smile.

“Unfortunately,” Jean answers for him, swiping a thumb under his nose. His bored expression has melted into something cocky, bordering on derisive. It gives Eren a sense of whiplash. “The hell are you even doing here?”

“Jean,” Marco warns, but his attention is drawn away when another slew of students spills in through the front doors. He calls them all by name and efficiently hands them their schedules.

Eren can feel his fingers twitch. Marco he likes, Jean… not so much. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jean moves in and flicks his fingers against the embroidered badge on Eren’s shoulder. “The Wings of Freedom,” Jean says. Instantly, Eren pulls back, not liking the thought of being touched by strangers. “No fair that we have to trudge through five years of training to even think about choosing our division, and yet here you are, all snug with the Legion.”

Clarity dawns on Eren when he realizes the second difference between their uniforms. The badge on Jean’s shoulder is of two crossed swords, while Eren bears the insignia he had seen in the common room at HQ. So much for blending in.

“What makes you so special?” Jean presses with a sneer, and Eren swallows around the knot in his throat at being put on the spot. “Or better said, whose dick did you have to swallow?”

Eren gawks, but this time, it isn’t the awed kind of gawk the captain or anyone else in the Legion usually inspires. Indignation sparks an overwhelming kind of anger that’s too new for Eren to process. All he wants to do is punch Jean so hard, his nose will cave in. “You wanna say that again, asshole?”

“You wanna go, punk?”

“You want to not get suspended? Jean, you’re already this close from getting permanently expelled,” says a girl that grabs Jean by an arm and easily pulls him away.

A distinct kind of heaviness settles in Eren’s heart at the sight of her. It’s a familiar feeling he can’t exactly place.

“Mikasa,” Jean says, his aggressiveness changing into charm. Marco greets her from the group of newcomers still swarming him. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Mikasa ignores him in favor of looking at Eren, and the movement of her hand coming up to touch the red scarf around her neck is so poignant, Eren has to smile. A soft, nearly imperceptible feeling of belonging warms his stomach.

Her dark eyes hidden behind a fringe of equally dark hair makes her a lovely sight, and it looks like Jean thinks so too, judging by the way he stares at her, clipboard pressed to his chest.

“You must be new,” she tells Eren, but she doesn’t smile or anything of the sort.

Marco finally joins them, scratching at his cheek. “This is Eren. He’s in our class.”

She looks down at the badge on Eren’s shoulder and nods her head. “Not a lot of people join the Recon Legion,” Mikasa says. “Not many people want to.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Jean quips, making Eren glare at him.

He still feels like punching him, but Mikasa’s right. It wouldn’t be good to get suspended on his first day. “No it wasn’t,” Eren says.

“You wanna shut up, Jaeger?”

Before Eren can retort, Mikasa’s hand lands on his elbow and hesitantly pulls him away from Jean. This is one touch Eren isn’t against, but not due to lack of hostility. Like a case of déjà vu, Eren experiences a sense of familiarity. For reasons unbeknownst to him, Eren is briefly reminded of Armin.

“Our classrooms are located on the third floor,” she says, and simply starts walking towards the staircase at the center of the main hall.

She doesn’t even respond when Jean calls out that it’s his job to show the new kid around. Marco tells him to let it go.

“The semester starts today?” Eren asks while walking up the stairs, hand gliding across the polished surface of the wooden railing as he goes. “I figured we’d be late in the term by this time.”

Mikasa shakes her head. “It started about three months ago; we were just on forced break due to a breach south of Rose.” She looks at him, her eyes so unreadable she reminds him of Rivaille. “You’ve saved yourself the headache of midterms by enrolling when you did.”

Eren chuckles nervously, unsure what midterms are. “Glad I did.”

They reach the third floor in comfortable silence, Eren too engrossed in trying to pinpoint what the feeling in his chest means. It has simmered down to a point where he can ignore it, but its origin is troublesome.

At last, Eren settles on the fact that Mikasa is the first girl he has met that shares his age. Perhaps it’s a normal reaction to have. But something else nags at the corner of his mind. It’s not _that_ kind of feeling, because he’s experienced attraction before, just this morning. Mikasa doesn’t cause the same kind of feeling the captain does.

Eren stops his train of thought right there.

Getting aroused by Rivaille was a once in a lifetime thing. He has no right to linger on that, especially when Eren barely knows him. And that fact troubles Eren all the more.

The emotions these strangers trigger in him are ones that have never been caused by the people Eren grew up with at St. Chlorba, people he has known all his life. Not even the nurses who tended to him through his time as a child, tucking him in and offering lollipops to silence his tantrums inspired this urge to smile.

No one has made him blush like Rivaille, and no one has made him feel accepted like Armin. Mikasa is the first person to make him feel like he belongs somewhere. Eren has never felt such a strong urge to hit someone before Jean, and the peace Marco lit in him is something to behold.

He’s only known most of these people for ten minutes.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Mikasa says, misreading the look on Eren’s face. “I’ll stick with you in case you need anything. Show you around.”

Eren’s eyes sting, but he manages a genuinely grateful laugh. “Thank you, Mikasa.”

By the time they arrive at their classroom, most of the students are already settled in. Some of them are sitting on the windowsill, and others are sitting over the desks with their legs crossed. One of them is eating something from a tiny basket in front of her.

Rivaille was right when he talked about the 104th being a group of academic slackers, using their seniority as an excuse. Even while compared to the limited education at St. Chlorba, this classroom has more in common with the staff’s office rather than the study hall. Eren is only partially glad.

“Attention, everyone,” Mikasa calls out, and Eren becomes rooted to the floor. His eyes widen in a silent plea for her to stop, but she either doesn’t see it or ignores him completely. “We’ve got a newcomer.”

The chatter stops abruptly, every single person in the room turning to him. He swallows hard but stands tall, head held high. Never let them see fear or insecurity.

“This is Eren. Eren, this is the 104th. You’ll be stuck with us until the day either of us drops dead,” Mikasa says, but there’s a hint of humor in her voice. Eren doesn’t like it.

“Hey,” he offers weakly, but by the time the word is out, everyone has gone right back to what they were previously doing. “That was easy.”

There are far more desks than they are students in the classroom, and Eren doesn’t know what to make of that. The right side of the room is made of nothing but glass windows that face extensive gardens that lead to a bordering forest. Other than that, nothing really sticks out.

It’s easy to spot his belongings the second glance around. A small pile of books sits innocently on the fifth row, close to a second door. The chairs at both sides are taken, much to Eren’s disappointment. He would rather sit with Mikasa.

“I’ll catch you after class,” Mikasa says as a prompt to get him moving. “Go make some friends.” Eren gives her an uneasy look, which she assuages with a kind smile. “Everything will be fine, Eren. Not everyone is an ass like Jean.”

Huffing out a chuckle, Eren nods his head and makes his way towards his desk when Mikasa takes her place at the bottom row.

He has to squeeze between the wall and the occupied chairs to get to his seat. Plopping down without finesse, he looks down at his schedule and tries to make some sense of it. Even with Mikasa there as a guide, he would like to know his bearings in case they get separated. Not that he is expecting her to stick around throughout the rest of the night.

With his available hand, Eren opens the notebook set in front of him. An elegant fountain pen rolls off a page and he stops it in time, placing it back on the center. His fingers linger on the glossy surface of it, and it is with a flop of his stomach that he realizes who the pen belongs to. It’s the same one he signed his papers with; the one Rivaille carries in his pocket.

Covering his mouth with a hand, Eren tucks it away in his jacket before thinking better of it, and putting it back on the notebook. He needs to pretend to be paying attention to class, and he can’t do that without a pen.

Taking a deep breath, he straightens out his schedule card in a way he thinks is upright. Eren tries to be casual about it, because three rows down, a girl is staring up at him. The less attention he attracts, the better.

“What’s your skill?” asks the young man sitting to his left, leaning over to peek at Eren’s notebook. Eren looks up at him with a furrowed brow, quickly closing it. “If you’ve already been sorted into your division, must mean you’re good at whatever it is you do.”

“Reiner,” says another student, tone hushed in warning. “Don’t bug him.”

“I’m not bugging him,” he says, turning back to Eren and giving him a smile. He’s big in every sense of the word, but something about him just smells _friendly_. Not the person Eren would choose to spend his time with, but definitely someone worth calling an acquaintance. “Well? Are you a strategist? If you are, Berthold here challenges you to a game of chess.”

The student who had spoken earlier – Berthold – widens his eyes, perspiration beading on his forehead. “Please don’t listen to him. He has a tendency of volunteering others.”

“No, I’m not a strategist.” Eren chuckles nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “The reason I was drafted was because, um…” he rummages through his head for something to say, something that won’t be questioned or get him into trouble. “I’m good at fighting.” Sounds good enough for him.

“Hand-to-hand combat?” interrupts yet another kid, loudly, as he pushes himself between Eren and Reiner with a wink. “A walking stick like you? I’m Connie, by the way.”

“Hey, Annie,” Reiner calls out, and the girl who has been staring at Eren nods in affirmation. “Looks like you’ve met your match. This guy’s so good, the Legion called dibs before graduation.”

“Amazing,” says Annie, crossing her arms over her chest as she pushes herself off the desk. She doesn’t sound amazed.

“So what’s it like? Kill any wolves yet? Been outside the walls? Man, I bet it’s way more exciting than sitting in a classroom all day. Not that I want to join the Recon Legion, mind you. You gotta be batshit crazy to even consider that option,” Connie rambles until Reiner grabs hold of his jacket and shoves him away.

Eren can only just imagine. Everyone in the Legion is a bit off their rocker, for the exception of his commanding officers, but then, Eren doesn’t know them all that well. He wonders what odd trait Rivaille has, or Erwin. It’s difficult to even think about them having a quirky oddity.

That thought pushed to the back of his head, Eren reaches the conclusion that the students know about the monsters outside the walls, but not the ones inside. “Everyone here plans on joining the Royal Police?” he says, looking at Reiner.

“Only the top ten ranking seniors get to join,” he explains. “Not a lot of us have hopes for a future with a fat enough paycheck to keep us living in Sina.”

“We’re aiming for the Garrison,” Berthold says, straightening up when a man Eren assumes is their teacher walks into the classroom.

“The Garrison?” Eren’s never heard of such thing, but his question doesn’t receive an answer, probably thinking it was rhetorical. Reiner and Berthold both nod.

“And if you don’t make it to the Garrison?” Eren tries, hoping he’s asking the right questions.

“We’ll have to settle for a lesser job. Reiner here would be a pretty swell surgeon,” Connie says, finally moving away to take his seat when the class is called to settled down.

How the medical field can be a _lesser job_ , Eren has no idea.

❖

By the time lunch break comes along, Eren’s head is reeling.

He knows numbers, but none like the ones he was shown on the board. He is sure those were letters anyway, and the addition of said letters into already complicated formulas only made things worse.

Everyone slept through the literature class, and most of the period was spent trying to decide what kind of attitude to take. He debated rather faking sleep would make him invisible like the rest of the group, but he opted for ‘mildly disinterested’. It didn’t work, because at one point he was asked something about a writer named Milton, but Mikasa answered for him before he could panic. The teacher wasn’t amused, but carried on.

By the third period, Eren just wanted to head back to his dungeon. He wasn’t aware he would be taking two mathematics, until he realized he was actually in a science class. Biology, the teacher had said at one point.

“I hate school,” Eren complains to Mikasa as they make their way to the lunchroom. It’s similar to the dining hall at headquarters, only lighter, despite the night lingering outside the tall windows.

Mikasa shows him around, instructing him on how lunch works. He picks what looks most appealing, which isn’t much, and clumsily tries to keep it all on his plate while looking neat. She seems to have mastered the art without even trying. They head on to pay before taking their place at the tables, but one look at Eren’s badge and the nice lady informs him that his meal is covered, all he has to do is sign on the dotted line.

Eren would much rather scrape up the money, until he realizes that he has nothing to his name. He mentally kicks himself for not having thought of that earlier, thinking of how shameful it would have been to stand in line and not be able to pay for his food. Having no other choice, Eren writes down his name, and luckily, the lady doesn’t even look at it before closing the book and wishing him a pleasant meal.

“I think it’s unfair for an institution to be charging students to eat,” Eren says while walking away with Mikasa in tow. At St. Chlorba, no one ever had to do such a thing. Then again, he can’t compare the slush he used to be served with the banquet now in his hands.

“I’ve heard that the schools outside of Sina offer free meals,” Mikasa says, taking a table by the window. “Trust the capital to charge even the air you breathe.”

“Utterly stupid, too.” Eren puts down his plate and sits next to Mikasa. “With so much wealth, can’t they help out the poorer sectors? Give them better food, maybe?” He is careful to keep his voice down, not wanting to call more attention than he already has.

Opening a kerchief and placing it over her lap, Mikasa gives Eren a steady look. “You’re not from here, are you?” Although it’s phrased like a question, it doesn’t feel like one.

Eren is yet to come up with a story for himself, but he figures he can start here. He nods. “I’m from Trost,” he says, recalling where St. Chlorba is located. Not exactly a lie.

“Should’ve known. You’re far too humble to be from the capital.” Mikasa spreads butter on her dinner roll. “How long have you been in Sina?”

“Not long. I’m still getting used to all of the glitter,” he says, wiggling his fingers in a display of what he means. He goes for the glass of grape juice first. “I can get used to the life here, however. It’s not that nice when it comes to treating people equally, but I can deal with it.” The lie tastes horrible on his tongue, but Eren figures he has to make himself sound like the affluent kid he’s supposed to pretend to be. “It’s better than where I come from.” That, on the other hand, isn’t a lie.

“If that’s the case, it’s safe to assume you didn’t join the Legion by choice,” Mikasa says, dabbing her dinner roll in the beef stew she’s taken. Biting off the end, she chews and swallows, before turning her head to look at Eren. Her dark eyes are endless. “You’d probably be happier joining the Royal Police.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. Which division are you joining?”

Mikasa turns back to her plate with a frown. “I’m not sure yet. I figure I could rank on the top ten if I want to, but then I remember why I joined the military in the first place.”

Intrigued, Eren twists his chair to better look at Mikasa as she talks. Food forgotten, he nods his head in a signal for her to go on. “Why did you join?”

“I don’t feel like talking about it,” she says.

“I got drafted into the Legion because I was told I’m special. Still not sure what that means, but…” Eren shakes his head, offering her a tiny smile. “Make the most of your choice, Mikasa. Choose whatever it is you’re comfortable with dealing for the rest of your life.”

Mikasa closely inspects the food on her plate when she pauses her eating. It’s easy to see that she’s deep in thought. “Jean told me I was crazy to even consider the Legion.”

Eren snorts. “I don’t like him, but he’s probably right. Who would want to willingly sign up to get eaten?”

“Those things killed my mother.”

A shocked silence settles over them, until Eren has regained enough composure to clear his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Revenge isn’t the best drive to make a choice, not when it can cost me my life, I’m aware of that.”

“The Royal Police can offer you a stable future,” Eren tries, his fingers twirling a loose thread on the table cloth. “Or maybe join the Garrison.” Whoever the Garrison are.

Mikasa hums, reaching for her own drink. “I still have time to decide.”

They finally get to eating in peace, and are only interrupted by an obnoxious Jean who drops by to politely tell Mikasa to enjoy her meal. He ignores Eren completely, and Eren can most definitely live with that.

“Are _you_ from here?” he asks once they start picking at their dessert. It’s the first time Eren’s ever had pie, and it is truly a religious experience.

Taking the kerchief from her lap, Mikasa dabs at her mouth and places it over her empty plate. “I lived in Shiganshina before the fall of Wall Maria. After that, I decided to join the military. I’ve been living here ever since.”

Eren isn’t too familiar with the history outside of the hospital, but he has heard of Wall Maria, and how it fell to the creatures from outside. That was years ago.

“At least it’s safe here,” Eren says, trying to look for a bright side.

“The pit of debt I’ve dug myself into is even safer,” she says, and Eren can barely just read the hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I guess that’s another reason why I’m considering the Police.”

“How about your father? Is he lending you a hand?” It’s a loaded question and Eren knows it. The stormy look on Mikasa’s face solidifies his worries.

“He’s been missing since mother died.”

Ducking his head, Eren doesn’t know what to say. “I’m an orphan who has no idea where I’m going, too, if that helps.”

Mikasa blinks at him, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Eren fears he’s finally messed it up by saying something wrong, but he sighs with relief when Mikasa’s features melt into a nice smile. “Only somewhat.”

They gather their things shortly after, taking their plates and silverware to the window before heading out into the main building.

With only twenty minutes left to their break, Mikasa shows Eren where the library is located, as well as the bathrooms. There is a common room, a recreation room filled with tables meant for tennis and chess, and to Eren’s awe, a ballroom.

“The second half of the day looks to be lighter than the first,” Mikasa says, looking through her schedule card.

“What’s on the list?”

“Aside from history, we have etiquette lessons and music.”

“Etiquette lessons?” The first thing to come to mind is the strange way Rivaille holds his cup, despite his overly elegant presence.

“If you’re going to cater to the elite, you’ve got to learn how to blend in,” Mikasa says, glancing at Eren out of the corner of her eye. Eren senses a little judgment on her behalf, may be due to the eating habits he just displayed.

“Looks like I’m gonna need those.”

Mikasa smiles. “Seems like.”

❖

Eren gets called an uncouth monkey during Etiquette, Jean claiming that it must have something to do with his “farm-boy roots”. He shuts up when Mikasa casually mentions that Eren is from Trost – the same city as Jean. This causes a wave of aborted snorts and chuckles to emerge around the ballroom they are convened in, until the instructor tells them that it’s rude to mumble.

The rest of the lesson goes without incident or word from Jean.

Music, the last period of the day, informs the 104th that their final grade will be a piece on the one instrument they choose to practice throughout the term. Along with a tiny girl named Historia, Eren decides on the piano, since it looks to be simple enough.

When the clock strikes one in the morning, and class is officially dismissed, Eren allows himself to grin.

He’s done it. He’s defeated his first day of school and emerged victorious.

“Don’t you find it eerie?” Mikasa asks as they walk down the hallways, trying not to get pushed along with the rushing crowd of students.

“Find what eerie?”

The look she gives him is cryptic, but she soon shakes her head. “Never mind, I’ve got to get home. Are you heading off by yourself?”

Eren cants his head to the side but doesn’t press. Mikasa hasn’t pressed him for anything throughout the day, so it’s only fair he do the same. “No worries, I’ve got an escort.”

Speaking of which, Erd is already waiting for him by the entrance doors.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eren,” Mikasa says, patting his shoulder as she walks by him and heads for the door.

“Have a good night! Or, day,” but she’s already gone, mixed in the sea of white and beige.

Holding his books close to his side, Eren releases a happy sigh. The day could have been a catastrophe, but instead he’s made a friend and met a handful of potential acquaintances. Now, all he has to do is repeat today’s attitude and maybe, just maybe, he will make it through the next six months.

“Good to see you’ve survived,” Erd says, easily striding over to Eren with a lopsided smile. “Ready to go, private?”

Looking over his shoulder, back at the busy staircase, Eren nods.


	7. Lubido

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to see you guys are still sticking around. Heads up for some slight Erwin/Levi in this upcoming chapter. Also, hearing you guys' speculations keeps me going in life. I know my replies to most reviews are vague as frick, but, you know, just trying to avoid spoiling things. ~
> 
>  **EDIT:** I've updated the tags to include warnings of what's yet the come. There seems to be a problem with the way tagging pairings in this fandom works, and apparently I still have no idea what's the proper way to do so. Yes, there will be Erwin/Levi in this, and even instances of brief Erwin/Eren for reasons that are indeed connected with the plot development. Normally I dislike walls of text in the notes segment, but it looks to be the only away to avoid misunderstandings. That'll be all. Cheers. xoxo

The last thing Eren wants to encounter during his walk back is a raving Hanji, waving her clipboard in the air to catch their attention.

Eren gives Erd a quick look, one that begs him to say something, but Erd shrugs. “Orders were to bring you back to HQ. We’re at HQ.” Giving Eren a salute, he bows dramatically. “He’s all yours,” he tells Hanji before disappearing around a dark corner.

“Shouldn’t I be doing something constructive?” Eren says, casting Hanji a troubled look. “With the unit, I mean.” He doesn’t want to come off as a freeloader, and he also doesn’t want to be left alone with the Legion’s scientist. Especially when her grin promises demented procedures.

“You’re part of the Legion,” she says, turning on her heels with flare and starting down a dimly lit corridor. “You aren’t yet a full-fledged soldier, not until we’ve gotten you all set up.”

Eren follows her, grateful for the scarce amount of people walking back and forth along the way. They reach a room that isn’t much different than his chamber, maybe smaller, with an operating table resting at the center. There are chairs with leather cuffs installed on them, tables filled with medical equipment, and on the far left is a complicated mess of tubes, beakers and flasks.

Too similar to the pit at St. Chlorba, Eren feels his stomach twist until he’s overcome with the urge to vomit.

“In the meantime, you’re job is to help me figure out how you function,” Hanji says, still holding on to her sunny disposition. “Have a seat, will you? We’re just going to have a talk!”

Shuffling his feet, Eren pulls out the stool by Hanji’s desk and sits on it.

For a moment he thinks she’ll tell him to sit on the wooden chair with the cuffs, but she just props herself up onto the desk and begins swinging her legs. Going through the papers on her clipboard, she coughs, then scratches underneath her nose.

“First things first. How was school?”

Eren blinks down at the books he’s still clinging to. “Not as bad as I thought it would be,” he says, and puts his materials down by Hanji’s side. He debates on removing his jacket, but thinks better of it.

“This was your first time directly interacting with a large crowd of people. Were you nervous?”

“At first, yes. But then I met Mikasa and she was kind enough to show me around.”

“Aw, you only made _one_ friend?”

“I met others, too. Jean’s a jerk and I felt like punching him, but the others…” Eren cuts off his sentence, staring suspiciously at Hanji. She’s engrossed in her papers, and he realizes that the questions aren’t her personal concerns. It’s only an assessment.

“What’d he do to provoke you?” she asks after a brief moment, pushing up her glasses with the tip of her pen.

Shifting on the stool, Eren stares down at his feet. “He just said some things. Like, how I bought my way into the Legion.”

Hanji snorts, but doesn’t comment on it. “So you’ve made a new female friend on your first day. Did that incite any kind of familiar feelings in you? Emotions you might have experienced before? Increased heart rate, perspiration, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach?”

Ignoring the slew of questions, Eren decides on asking his own. “What did you mean this morning? When you said that the captain ‘does that to you’?”

Without stopping her writing, Hanji smirks. Eren could swear she wiggled her hips. “The first thing that comes to mind when I talk about those things is Rivaille, huh?”

Eren blinks at her, unsure of what she means. He decides he doesn’t _want_ to know what she means, because her smile and the twinkle in her eyes are unsettling. “What? Uh, no, not really, I just—”

“You want to talk about him.”

“No, I—”

“We chiropters have certain abilities that can heavily influence the way humans perceive us,” she says, shutting Eren up with a wave of her hand. “Now, I want you to tell me how you felt when you first encountered Erd and Petra.”

Not able to keep up with the conversation, Eren sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Threatened. Scared. Who wouldn’t feel like that?”

“Absolutely no one.” Humming, Hanji leans her clipboard over her knee. “Our race comes equipped with a mechanism that makes us nearly invisible to humans. They see us, sure, but we’re just another person walking down the street, painfully nondescript.”

Eren scoffs, incredulous. He remembers the stench, the feeling of needing to get away from them as clear as it had been yesterday.

“When you met Rivaille,” she continues, “did you feel the same as you did when you encountered the others?”

The first thing that comes to mind is the embarrassing desire to run his fingers through neatly combed hair, but then Eren remembers the first time they truly did meet. Even while beat to a bloody pulp, Eren didn’t feel the need to kill him. Disable him, yes. Push him away, absolutely. But it had been in self-defense. “Somewhat,” he admits.

“How about Erwin?”

Eren smiles despite of himself. “Not at all.”

Hanji looks up at him with an intrigued stare. “Tell me how Erwin made you feel.”

“Nervous, obviously.” Eren toys with his fingers, crossing them and cracking his knuckles as he thinks back to the things Armin had told him. “But he was different. I don’t know, he was calm and collected, and in turn that made me feel comfortable.”

“Do you think he’s attractive?”

Eren looks up at her, expecting to find a teasing smile or a wink, but instead she’s deadly serious. The drastic change forms a knot in his throat as he tries to swallow around it. “H-He’s handsome, I guess. Then again, being that tall and…” A gaping blank manifests in Eren’s head. “And…” For the life of him, he can’t think of a single word to use that can describe the commander.

“Just as I expected,” says Hanji.

“What just…?”

“As a lycanthrope you have immunity towards the lesser vampires, but it doesn’t save you from the purebreds.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Have you felt unstable in my presence? Has being in Rivaille’s presence instilled a sense of wrath?”

Furrowing his brow, Eren shakes her head. “No?”

“Yet Erwin has triggered an altered state. Has any swelling of tissue occurred? How about secretions of any kind?”

Eren opens his mouth, but closes it, unsure of how to answer anything. He barely understands what she’s trying to say.

“What she’s asking,” Rivaille says, startling the both of them when he walks through the door. “Have you been overrun by the overwhelming urge to stroke your dick to thoughts of Erwin?”

It takes him a moment, but when Eren finally makes sense of Rivaille’s question, his face begins feeling hot. “No!” He just wants to dig his head in a hole and never surface again.

“Have you gotten an erection since your arrival?” Hanji continues, as if she were discussing the weather.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Answer the question,” Rivaille says, and for one terrifying moment, Eren remembers the he has indeed gotten an erection since his arrival. “I haven’t got all day.”

“No,” Eren says, trying to calm the quiver in his voice. “No, I haven’t.”

Rivaille’s face betrays nothing despite knowing it’s a lie.

“If that’s the case, there is some filter of a purebred’s abilities,” Hanji says, nodding her head, apparently satisfied with what she’s learned. “Eren is just one of possibly many intelligent specimen, but he’s immune to psychokinetic weaponry. Purebreds seem to have some level of influence, but it seems to be minimal.”

Rivaille looks from Hanji to Eren.

He walks closer to Eren, hooking his fingers beneath his jaw and turning his head upwards to inspect his face. Eren doesn’t him look him in the eye, still feeling embarrassed. “We’ll have to strengthen our defense,” he tells Hanji, but his thumb strokes along Eren’s jaw line.

Eren’s knees shake.

“Considering we’ve been relying only on our personal defense mechanisms, yes, I think we may need to do so,” she says.

“Erwin expects a full report on his desk by sunrise.” Rivaille moves away, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Hollowness settles in Eren’s gut, and for a wild moment he wonders if Hanji’s theories are wrong, if he truly is ensnared by whatever ability Rivaille possesses. Then again, she did mention the word wrath, and Eren is as far from experiencing wrath as he can possibly be. He longs for his touch.

“Do I get to keep him?” Hanji says, pouting when Rivaille gives her a look. “I guess I’ll just have to work with this.”

Without saying a single word, Rivaille turns towards the door and gestures for Eren to follow him.

“But, wait a moment,” Eren says before moving, holding his head. “I don’t understand. Back at St. Chlorba, Petra explained that vampires weren’t magical in any way. Suddenly it’s…” he let’s the sentence fall away. “She was lying?”

“Only partly,” Hanji explains with an apologetic smile. “By any means, we can’t fly or turn into bats, but we do have unique abilities with purely scientific backgrounds. Increased brain waves and the like.”

“No magic,” Eren says testily, his hands fidgeting. He doesn’t like being lied to, especially when discussing things as important as his existence.

When Rivaille turns towards him with a steady stare, Eren quickly gets up and gathers his belongings. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Hanji.” Eren bows his head.

Hanji hums, fixing the collar of Eren’s jacket before pushing him in Rivaille’s direction. “I want you to think closely about everything you experience, all right? Down to the tiniest detail, you hear?”

Before Eren can nod, she’s already shutting the door behind him.

He doubts he’ll ever be able to recover from the embarrassment.

Books in hand, Eren follows the sound of Rivaille’s footsteps until he finds him heading up towards the Smith mansion. When he’s close enough, silence becomes prominent, and it dawns on Eren that he was purposefully making noise in order for Eren to find him.

“Sir, is that really all I’ll have to do? Sit around and let Miss Hanji pry at me?” He’s aware he sounds like a complete child, but he feels insulted. Eighteen years of solitude and now they expect him to crack open and spill secrets he has no knowledge of.

“Is that a problem?” Rivaille opens a door leading to the moonlit gardens of the estate, and Eren’s stride falters.

“Not really,” he hears himself mumble.

There’s no one out here for the exception of flowers and intricate labyrinths that encase fountains and iron benches. The night is colder, the moon brighter now that the clouds have dispersed. Thousands of stars twinkle in the velvety black sky.

It’s peaceful, and something in Eren’s chest swells with emotion. He’s never seen the night sky like this. He’s never smelled this many flowers, or felt a crisp cold against his skin. He never knew nighttime could be this bright in the absence of artificial light.

“Have you got your book with you?”

Eren nods his head, holding up both his notebook and book. “Please tell whoever gave me these that I deeply appreciate it.”

Rivaille nods, heading deeper into the garden until the mansion can no longer be seen. “In that case, you’re welcome, but don’t get used to it.”

They walk across a pond that has ducklings in it, but Eren doesn’t stop to admire them. He’s only a little bit surprised that Rivaille has been the one behind everything. “Including the toothbrush?”

“Hygiene is important.”

Eren smiles and quickens his pace.

In the depths of the garden stands an open pavilion, its roof in the shape of a dome. Alabaster columns are decorated in discreet carvings that blend into the smooth stone seats. The marble floor shines in the moonlight. All around it are willow trees, moss draping and swaying in the gentle breeze.

Eren stands back as Rivaille glides up the steps, a hand elegantly pressed to his waistcoat. “Erwin has company,” he says, stopping at the top and turning slightly towards Eren. “I figured now would be a good time to work on your reading.”

It’s a good idea, Eren reckons, but he’s certain he won’t be able to focus on words, not when Rivaille is standing there with silver moonlight sliding down his shoulders. Pale blue eyes nearly look white, contrasting beautifully with the black of his hair.

“And since I’m in a good mood,” he continues, “I’ve brought snacks.”

That he has.

Certain that he’s walked into a dream, Eren tiptoes his way up the short set of stairs.

On one of the benches is a tray which Levi uncovers without much ceremony, revealing an assortment of cheeses, fruits and pastries. They’re all placed in a way that forms a pattern, and Eren is left wondering if the tray had been intended for Erwin’s guests, or if Rivaille had ordered it to be prepared as such.

Each sitting on either side of the tray, Rivaille leans back against a column, and picks up a cube of white cheese.

Having never tasted anything but the fruits set next to him, Eren decides to try a pastry. It’s flaky, still warm, and its insides are filled with a tangy kind of jelly. Pleasant, but not his favorite.

Eren goes to pick something else, but Rivaille is already holding up a small, square cake for him to take.

He’s surprised to find that it’s made of chocolate, despite the cake being white. It’s delicious.

“I expect to be read the first chapter of your book today,” Rivaille says, crossing his legs at the knees. Shutting his eyes, he blindly reaches for another cake and pops it into his mouth.

Eren stares at him. “Sir?”

“Get on with it.”

Shifting in his seat, Eren reaches for the book he hadn’t know what was for, he had just assumed it was for one of his classes. He looks to Rivaille in a silent plea to not make him do this, but his eyes are still shut, his face blank but expecting. With a sigh, he runs a hand across the cover, feeling the grain of brand new fabric, dipping his fingers into the golden groves that spell out the book’s name.

Not bothering with the title, he flips open the cover.

At first, Eren’s intimidated by the amount of letters he sees mashed together. Popping another cake into his mouth, he breathes deep, and begins.

He slams the book shut not a minute later. “I’m not going to make a fool out of myself, sir.”

It’s a moment before Rivaille moves, opening an eye that makes Eren flinch. “Don’t be a brat,” he says before reaching inside his waistcoat.

He hands Eren an odd looking ruler. It’s just like an average slab of cut wood, only this one has a wedge cut out along the middle. Eren doesn’t need to ask what to do with it, since it’s obvious enough.

Opening the book again and huffing harshly, Eren adjusts the ruler over the page, sure to leave the wedge over the sentence he’s attempting to read. It works in avoiding all of the letters turning into a jumbled mess of lines.

“Try again,” he says, but it isn’t the harsh bark of a command Eren had been expecting.

Eren tries again.

He’s ordered to stop several sentences down, Rivaille asking what Eren thinks is happening in what he’s already read. There’s a moment’s hesitation before Eren shakes his head, admitting that he really has no idea. All the author is doing is describing feelings by using nature as an example, and it doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense to him.

Apparently satisfied, Rivaille nods and asks him to continue. “Remember to visualize what it is you’re reading. Not only will it make it more enjoyable, it’ll be easier to view the entire design of it.”

Time ticks on as Eren continues reading aloud, stumbling over words and mispronouncing a few, but it’s more than he’s ever done. It becomes easier the farther he goes, and he nods whenever Rivaille tells him to stop at the periods and pause at the commas.

Reaching the end of the chapter, Eren closes the book with a satisfied grin, using the ruler as a bookmark. He looks to Rivaille, expecting some sort of praise, but the captain simply nods. Eren tries not to be disappointed, not after reaching such a milestone.

All in all, it took him a total of two hours.

“Are we doing this again tomorrow?” Eren says, trying to hold his smile.

Rivaille is looking down at the nearly empty tray, picking up the last grape. “I’ve got an appointment,” he says.

Eren’s shoulders sag. “Should I continue it on my own?”

“If you must,” Rivaille places the grape between his front teeth, and bites down. It grants him a neat cut, leaving the other half of the grape intact. “Either way, I expect you to start the second chapter on Thursday. No detours. I expect you to be here when I arrive.”

The implication lifts Eren’s mood.

“Of course, sir?” The phrase begins as affirmation and ends as a question when Rivaille holds out the half eaten grape, its juice soaking Eren’s bottom lip as it’s pressed onto it. Unsure of what to do, Eren opens his mouth, allowing the fruit to fall inside. He wraps Rivaille’s fingers with his lips in an accidental kiss.

Tips of his ears burning hot, Eren chews and swallows, unable to look his captain in the eye.

“Supper will be served shortly,” Rivaille says, as if nothing had occurred. “Let’s get on with it.”

The sensation of dozens of butterflies taking flight inside his stomach makes Eren fidget. He hurriedly gets to his feet and gathers his things, and is stopped when he moves to pick up the tray. He’s told someone will stop by to pick it up.

The moon has moved across the sky, leaving their path darker than it had been at their arrival. Rather than feeling worried or threatened due to walking by such darker corners, Eren feels at ease. A sense of safety settles in his bones, making his fingertips tingle. His mind wanders towards idle thoughts of his day, and the strange man walking by his side.

Rivaille has been a mysterious and breathtaking wonder since the moment he walked into Eren’s quarters at St. Chlorba, but Eren can’t help but think that this person is different. On that day, Eren knew true fear. He’d felt hatred towards the coldness that rolled off broad shoulders and the sharp curves of his hips. Eren had smelled the stench of cruelty and arrogance.

This person, Eren has no words to describe. Not in the same way he can’t describe Erwin, however. The commander is but a blank blot in Eren mind, while Rivaille is a burst of crimson with hints of royal blue. Rivaille is loyalty, elegance, wit, and passion. Eren has no idea where the thought comes from, but there’s conviction in his very soul.

“Thank you,” Eren says. He’s unsure what he’s thanking him for, but it feels like it needs to be said.

Rivaille answers with a miniscule nod of his head.

❖

To everyone’s delight, Rivaille joins them for supper.

It’s surprisingly rowdy in the dining hall, rowdier than it had been during breakfast, but Eren doesn’t mind. The atmosphere feels light and friendly as his comrades offer a toast to their health and their newest recruit.

Hanji tries her best to squeeze herself between Eren and Rivaille, the captain’s glare nowhere near enough to deter her, and only gives up when Petra nearly spills her tea over Eren’s plate.

“Captain won’t be here to save you tomorrow,” Hanji says, wiggling a finger.

“He’ll have homework,” Rivaille quips. “He better not fail because of you.”

“I can always lend you a hand if you need it,” she says, and Eren actually considers it. Who better than a scientist to help him with his maths and science lessons?

“Let’s make a deal, ma’am. You help me out with my assignments, and I won’t complain about any strange questions.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal!” Eren and Hanji shake on it.

Rivaille mentions something about the two of them being a couple of clouted tardy-gaited pignuts.

“May I ask how school went?” Petra says, probably to make up for nearly spilling scorching tea on Eren’s lap.

“Any cute ladies?” Gunther adds, passing Petra the ale. “Bet there are plenty of ladybirds to look at to your heart’s content, eh?”

Eren picks at the roasted pig on his plate, not really hungry after having all of those snacks in the garden. “I made some friends,” he offers. “They were all really nice and welcoming.”

“Do you hear that, Petra? Even Jaeger went through the first day of school with some semblance of grace,” Aurou says, garnering the muffled laughter of several of the people present.

“Don’t you dare,” Petra says, leveling him with a glare.

“When I first met Petra, it was during economics,” he continues, ignoring her angry warnings. “No one ever found out why it happened, but there was this constant smell surrounding her. One of our classmates noticed a puddle on her seat the moment she got called up to the board.”

Most of the squad has developed a case of giggles, including Eren, try as he may to stop himself. It’s rude to laugh at another’s misfortune, but he truly can’t keep it in.

“I can’t believe you!” Petra calls out, punching Aurou’s shoulder so hard he nearly squeaks. “How’s he gonna respect me now, huh?”

“That’s quite easy,” Rivaille interrupts, everyone’s attention snapping to him. “If I recall correctly, during the 27th expedition beyond the walls…” By this point, Aurou looks pale.

“I remember that!” Erd says, nearly choking on his ale.

When a new wave of laughter breaks out, Eren turns to Rivaille. “What happened?”

“He shit his pants,” Rivaille says, not a hitch of laughter in his voice, despite the gleam of mirth in his eyes.

Eren’s jaw drops, turning to Aurou with an incredulous laugh.

“What’s better yet,” Gunther says, “is that the trip back to Maria lasted nearly three hours. On _horseback_.”

The laughter became boisterous, Aurou attempting to play it cool as he signals for everyone to calm down with his hands. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“It was hilarious,” Petra says, making sure to pepper her words with as much force as possible. “Best story ever told.”

“We’ve got plenty where those came from,” Hanji points out, finally joining in on the racket.

In the middle of an anecdote being told by Gunther, Eren catches Mike entering the hall out of the corner of his eye, making straight for Rivaille. He does his best to focus on the story, knowing full well that he has no business in his superiors’ conversations.

Rivaille excuses himself, though nobody really hears him. “Be at your quarters at lights-out,” he tells Eren, no further explanation needed.

“Yes, sir.”

He watches Rivaille head out with Mike at his heels, before turning back to the story being told. Eren only finds that it’s become difficult to concentrate without the solid presence of Rivaille by his side.

❖

Eren heads out by himself when supper is called to an end. He figures he needs to acquaint himself with the Legion’s headquarters if this is now to be his home, and he doesn’t want to borrow from anybody’s time. Rivaille never said he couldn’t do so, which grants Eren the confidence to walk around until lights-out.

The building itself is a complicated web of passages and doors that lead everywhere he could ever imagine. Eren stumbles upon the armory, a second dungeon, a library, and a handful of empty rooms. It takes him longer to find the living quarters, and he’s a little put off by the luxury the rest of his squad mates have been granted.

Peering out a set of windows, Eren gasps when he finally realizes that Hanji’s remark about an underground city wasn’t a metaphor. The Legion’s headquarters is indeed a building built at the center of a city. From his vantage point, Eren can spot markets and houses – as well as a fistfight.

Resting his elbows on the windowsill, Eren leans over and simply watches. Moonlight spills in from a series of cavities at the very top of their stone ceiling, and Eren is sure that once the sun is up, the place will be fit for the living. Right now, it looks like the seedy underground the nurses at St. Chlorba talked in hushed whispers about.

Eren watches two boys running across the street, tapping each other’s shoulders before dashing in the opposite direction. Their laughter makes him smile when he’s reminded of Armin’s own high-pitched laughter. A rare thing for him, but pleasant to the ears. He wonders if he can bring it up with Rivaille again.

Pushing away from the window, Eren heads back towards the common rooms. It wouldn’t do to make others think he’s up to something, like trying to escape, at least until they’re familiar with each other enough. He doubts they’ll ever reach that kind of level of trust, especially when they’re the unit in charge or putting him down if the worst comes to happen.

That thought is never an easy one, but Eren can live with it. Despite the bleakness, he knows he’ll be able to make friends at the academy, much like Mikasa.

Of all of the scenarios Eren has entertained through the years, that of a life outside the hospital, this had never crossed his mind. Too fantastical to fathom; it’s positively absurd. But he’s here now, and there’s no going back.

The sound of muffled laughter catches Eren’s attention, bringing him to a stop. He looks behind him, where the sound seems to be coming from, but it stops shortly after. Eren starts walking again, with the intent of returning to the common room, but the laughter tickles his ears once more. This time it’s accompanied by several hushed voices.

Intrigue drives Eren to make a split decision he might later regret.

He sneaks down the hallway he was just returning from and takes a left, following the murmur on light feet. The sound doesn’t get louder, but Eren is sure he’s getting close. He can smell the stench of vampire nearby.

Hands to the wall, Eren crouches when he reaches a corner. The voices are coming from just around it, but another stranger sound comes from within the wall. He figures it’s a room of some sort, a meeting area, because Eren’s certain that deep voice belongs to Erwin. A woman is speaking to him, and then a man. Maybe they’re subordinates, but Eren remembers Rivaille mentioning guests.

They sound far down the hall and Eren doesn’t dare get any closer, so he stays there in a squat. He presses an ear to the wall, but all he can hear is another kind of sound coming from inside. Convinced that he’ll hear nothing else, Eren decides to head back, until another voice catches his attention.

He shouldn’t listen in, he really shouldn’t. Afraid he might hear something unpleasant, Eren turns away, bent on heading back before getting caught eavesdropping on his commanding officers, but that single sound roots him to the spot.

Rivaille gasps, and while Eren understands that it’s a perfectly normal thing to do, not only is it _Rivaille_ – perfectly in control and never letting the slightest thing slip without his permission – the gasp had been loud enough for Eren to hear at this distance.

Back straight against the wall, Eren risks a peek.

An ugly feeling thrashes in his chest at the sight with enough force to rattle him. Anger, bitterness, _jealousy_. Eren has to straighten himself up, hand clamped over his mouth to bury the enraged panting. He’s being irrational. He’s being childish. He has no claim over a man centuries older than him, a man he doesn’t know at all. Rivaille is his commanding officer, Eren reminds himself.

The image will remain burned into his mind, and he’ll do anything to rip it away.

Rivaille stands ramrod straight as he faces the wall. He looks unimpressed, as stoic as always, but that doesn’t stop Erwin from pressing up against his back, large hands kneading at Rivaille’s hips. Erwin looms over him, lifting a hand to tip Rivaille’s head back by the chin, and for one petrifying moment, Eren fears that they might kiss. They don’t, and instead Erwin whispers something against Rivaille’s mouth.

“It’s been years,” Erwin says, and Eren’s startled at realizing that he can hear him at all.

Rivaille doesn’t move, arms stiff at his sides as Erwin slowly touches along his chest. “If you want to have me, do so in your personal quarters. I’m not putting on a show for these good-for-nothing shits.”

“You’re unwilling.”

“When’s that ever stopped you?” Rivaille grunts when Erwin’s hand cups his crotch. His eyes close only to immediately fly open again. “Do what you want, but I’m not joining your little harem.”

Erwin pulls away, letting his hand drag along Rivaille’s back and side. “Is that sentimentality I’ve been seeing?”

Eren can hear mockery in his tone, clear as day.

Rivaille levels him with a stare. “It won’t do to have him terrified of me.”

“That’s never bothered you before,” Erwin says.

“I didn’t say it did. I meant that him fearing me will only jeopardize the Legion’s mission.”

“And that’s all you want,” says Erwin, a chuckle bubbling in his chest. “You have no ulterior motives for him to let his guard down; nothing personal.”

It isn’t phrased like a question, but the implication, if they _are_ talking about Eren, makes his skin prickle. His chest feels tight as he remains there, listening in.

When Rivaille doesn’t answer, Erwin shoves him against the opposing wall. But not with aggression, Eren notices. Much to his dismay, Erwin slips a thigh between Rivaille’s legs. Although, it’s rather funny to watch, Eren thinks, considering they’re both sporting straight faces, completely unruffled.

“I know you far too well, Rivaille,” Erwin says, the name rolling off his tongue like a purr. “Something about him calls to you, simply gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

“We’re not discussing this.” The coldness in Rivaille’s voice puts a chill to Eren’s bones. He sounds lethal.

“But you like discussing this,” Erwin counters, almost cooing. “You like talking about the filth that goes on in your head.” His voice is but a whisper that borders on dangerous. “I know about your nightmares, as much as I know about his.”

Eren furrows his brow, scared beyond reason. This man knows about the nightmares when Eren has never told a soul. It’s eerie and unsettling, and Eren decides that he doesn’t want to hear anything else.

“Tell me the things you want to do to him, Rivaille,” Erwin says, forcing Eren to stay where he’s at. He shouldn’t be listening. “Tell me about the ways you want to claim him, coddle him, fuck him.”

Eren’s jaw goes slack at the words, sickening heat pooling below his belt. He needs to leave. He can’t continue.

Erwin puts distance between him and Rivaille, talking freely now. “Tell me how you want him to—”

“If you’re done getting your rocks off,” says Rivaille, his words measured. “I’ve got matters to tend to.”

“I can give you what it is you need,” Erwin says, nearly tender. “For decades you’ve needn’t even ask.”

“The game’s changed, Erwin.” Rivaille pulls the chess piece from his waistcoat pocket.

“No, it hasn’t.” Erwin rests his hand over Rivaille’s, wordlessly telling him to keep the piece. “These changes of events have been long since foreseen. Don’t think so lowly of me.”

Rivaille’s eyes widen, a reaction that leaves Eren feeling uneasy. If something is enough to shake the captain, Eren would rather be left out of it. It only lasts for a short moment, as he’s already composing himself.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting,” Rivaille says.

The conversation is over.

They part ways without another word, Erwin disappearing into the room with the strange sounds, and Rivaille swallowed by the first rays of light of a dawning day.

Eren pushes himself up on trembling knees and a swirling head. He feels ill and misplaced in a swirl of half formed questions and no answers. He doesn’t even have it in him to feel elated… there’s nothing to feel elated about. Knowing what Rivaille wants from him, the way he’s found out about it leaves him with bile in his throat.

He shouldn’t have stayed.

Now he will be forced to deal with the fact that Erwin knows about the nightmares, that he may know what’s causing them, but Eren will be unable to ask.

Uncertain if Rivaille expects him to be at his sleeping quarters this early, it’ll be best to turn in. He doubts he’ll get a wink of sleep despite how drained he feels.

Once he regains the feeling of his legs, Eren follows in the same direction Rivaille has gone, since he suspects he’ll be unable to get back the same way he arrived. Eren’s unsettled enough as he is.

The only problem with this choice is that it places him right in front of the door leading to the room with the strange noises. The same is slightly ajar.

Eren wants to keep going and not look back, but something catches his attention. For a moment he swears he hears his name being called in the same deep voice that was just arguing with Rivaille.

Staring hard at the floor, Eren hears it again, but not with his ears. It feels like the rustle of fabric over skin and a distinct whisper. It makes him gasp as his thighs quiver with the need to clench something. He tastes fire on his tongue.

Stepping closer, Eren _sees_ , and he _doesn’t_ want to see.

In a delirium of smoke, Erwin’s cape is removed from his shoulders by two young men. A woman removes his jacket, and another releases his belt. Eren’s stomach twists with embarrassment when he sees past Erwin’s disrobing, gazing at the several people in various states of undress splayed along the carpets.

The sound is nothing but moans and gasps and unabashed mewls from men and women alike. There’s blood, so much blood trickling along sweat-soaked bodies that are offered to Erwin when he joins them with a smile capable of bringing armies to their feet.

The stench is horrid in Eren’s nose, the mixture of blood, sweat, vampire, and some other thing he can’t name. If he felt ill before, now he’s struggling to not dry-heave and reveal his presence.

A hand wraps around Eren’s wrist, yanking him away from the door so hard he nearly topples over.

The dozens of apologies he means to speak die away at the sight of cold, hard eyes.

“Follow me,” Rivaille says, his words revealing nothing.

Eren does his best to keep up but his legs refuse to function properly. He’s dizzy and disoriented, and some insane part of him wishes he’d gone into that room. Erwin wouldn’t have minded. The thought angers him.

“Sir,” Eren mutters through the waves of nausea threatening to choke him.

“This changes nothing,” he says. Rivaille guides them through a narrow passage and down a short flight of stairs. “You are my subordinate, my charge, and that is how we will remain.”

Eren nods. “If you knew I was there, why didn’t you call me out?”

“Erwin was unable to sense you because I cloaked you earlier tonight. I couldn’t let him know. I underestimated how much he would say—” Rivaille stops walking, causing Eren to nearly bump into him. The passageway is tight, the only source of light being the morning sun leaking through the cracks at the end.

Eren stares at the back of his head, admiring the bit of his neck he can see on top of the high collar of his shirt. Something peeks over it, and Eren is left wondering if it’s a bruise.

“Who are you?” Rivaille says, and the question stuns Eren.

“Captain?”

“I’ve known your face for a week,” he says, a feral kind of anger settling over his usually calm eyes. “I’ve interacted with you for less.”

Worried and confused, Eren shrugs. “I’m sorry… but I really don’t understand what you want me to say, sir.”

A pregnant silence lingers over them, Rivaille staring at him so harshly Eren wishes he could dig a hole and never come out of it. False memories tell Eren that he should cup his cheek, press a kiss to those thin lips, but he’s no stranger to déjà vu. He’s still reeling from Erwin’s words.

Without warning, Rivaille turns around and continues walking.

The course to Eren’s sleeping quarters is relatively quiet, the others doing their last rounds before bed. The sunlight becomes shut out by the time they arrive to the common room, leaving the living area basked in darkness.

Rivaille waits just outside Eren’s cell gates while he takes a quick shower and slips into his sleepwear. His silence is more unnerving than any threat he could possibly muster.

Once settled in, Rivaille sets on closing the gates with chain and lock. He hooks the key ring onto his belt.

“Captain,” Eren says before he can return to the mansion. “What Commander Smith said about the nightmares…” He’s either stupid or brave; perhaps both.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“But—”

“Go to sleep, Jaeger. I’m done dealing with everybody’s bullshit for today.”

And before Eren can protest, the door is slammed shut.

Cussing in irritation, Eren lets himself fall on his bed. If things continue at this rate, he fears he’ll never make it through these six months with his sanity intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love a good ol' stereotypical vampire orgy.


	8. Committo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty bad slump kept me from updating last weekend, but here it is. This week we have a warning that consists of slight Erwin/Eren and I'm not even joking. I wasn't joking when I said that this would be a cliche vampire AU. (No love triangles, however. Probably a threesome. No, I'm joking. No threesomes here. At least not in this fic.) By cliche vampire AU I mean that I'm a sucker for purebloods being these hypersexual beings... and so I accidentally made Erwin a pimp. Somewhat. Oops. Beware of Erwin/A Lot of Characters throughout the sorry. #notfortheweakofshipping

_A puddle of muted colors shift, changing the scenery playing out before Eren’s eyes._

_The room around him is different. Still in the dungeon, things are brighter. There’s a bed on the corner with a jumble of belts thrown haphazardly on it._

_Rivaille is no longer in front of him, but Eren can hear shuffling behind him. He’s much closer to the floor now, and it takes him a moment to realize the position he’s in._

_On all fours, it’s easier for Rivaille to grab hold of his hips, and push inside._

_Eren’s nails scramble across the floor, the burn of penetration leaving him breathless. It feels good, though strange, but he’s finally here. They’ve finally reached this point in their relationship and Eren doesn’t want to back down now. He wants for him to move – Eren wants his captain to claim every part of him once more, like he did that day before the court._

_Eren wants to forget about the pain and the horrors that lay in wait outside the walls. No more death, not tonight. No more betrayals and lies, no more…_

_“Eren,” Rivaille whispers, leaning over Eren’s back and pressing a kiss to his ear. “Do you want me to stop? Does it hurt?”_

_“I’m fine,” he answers, pushing himself onto his cock. “Can you move?”_

_The chuckle is soft. Tender hands caress Eren’s naked chest. “No need to be so impatient.”_

_“I’ve waited long enough,” Eren remarks, but mirth tinges his words. After a moment, he reaches for the green cloak he’d discarded when they first walked in, and uses it to soften the grating of stone against his elbows._

_“If you hadn’t insisted on picking a fight with Kirchstein, we would have gotten here sooner.”_

_“Can we please not talk about horseface while doing this?”_

_“Would you rather talk about Erwin?”_

_Eren grimaces. “I’d rather talk about how great it feels having your dick up my ass.”_

_Perhaps to accent Eren’s remark, Rivaille pulls out, only to ram himself in with so much force the wind is knocked out of Eren’s lungs. “Enlighten me, Jaeger.”_

_Licking his lips, Eren angles his hips when Rivaille sets a steady pace of shallow thrusts. The burn gives way to dull pleasure that threatens to melt his very bones. “Feels like the title of_ Humanity’s Strongest Soldier _doesn’t just describe you in the battlefront.”_

_Rivaille’s hand wraps around Eren’s cock, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes his entire body jerk with delight. “I’ll be the_ Strongest Pain in the Ass _once I’m done with you.”_

_Eren’s laugh turns into a shout when Rivaille angles himself just so. “Fuck, right there…” Placing his weight on one arm, Eren reaches back with the other._

_Cool fingers entwine with his, palm pressed to palm when Rivaille gives them a squeeze._

_“You feel nice,” Rivaille mutters, as if he’s fearful to ruin the moment._

_Eren chuckles anyway, and pulls him forward for a kiss on the mouth. No tongues, no rabid desperation, just a chaste dab that has Rivaille’s cheeks turning a soft pink. “Is that the best you can come up with?”_

_Resting their foreheads together, Rivaille struggles to keep his balance on Eren’s back. “I can always call you ‘darling’.”_

_Eren feels his mouth split into a bright grin. “I’d actually like that, Rivaille. I really would.”_

❖

Unlike the day before, Eren sees himself forced to shower before heading out, and makes a mental note to change his sheets once he gets back.

The unit leaves him alone during breakfast, even Hanji, sensing the foul mood radiating off Eren in poisonous waves. He eats very little because he still feels nauseous. He doesn’t make eye contact with anybody.

The dream leaves Eren to face the school night like the undead.

Miserable and having not rested at all, Eren continues to replay the scene he remembers in lucid detail. He’s had these types of dreams before, but not this explicit. His face burns with shame at the thought of him on his knees, but another part of him aches, troubling him on an even deeper level.

Gentle words and soft kisses had felt right; more a memory than a dream. That Rivaille had been tender, almost adoring.

“Is Jean picking on you again?” Mikasa says, taking the seat Reiner had been in yesterday. “You look terrible.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Eren shakes his head. The teacher drones on about something Eren assumes is Wall Rose. “Didn’t sleep much.” Leaning back in his chair, he stretches. “Jean can’t even pick on himself.”

Although Mikasa’s eyes are on the board, her attention is set on Eren. “Either way, all of the unwanted attention you’ve been getting is about to blow over.” Eren turns to her with a raised eyebrow. “Someone else is joining the 104th.”

“Oh. Really?”

“It started out as a rumor, but it looks to be true. Not sure when they’re getting here.”

The lesson turns out to be about the fall of Wall Maria and the military’s failure to react accordingly. Years of planning and groundwork were wiped away by a single worn brick. Soldiers had become complacent, too comfortable in the peace that had lasted one hundred years to properly react at the drop of a pin. Military education and training had been so obsolete that mere brainless animals were able to overrun them.

“That’s why this academy was founded,” says the teacher, slamming down a hand over a textbook. “Each and every one of you will play a crucial part in humankind’s future. Be it protecting the citizens by joining the Garrison and, those of you talented enough, the Royal Police, or by joining those who sacrifice their lives for the sake of knowledge and understanding in the Reconnaissance Legion.”

“So the Garrison is similar to the Royal Police?” Eren says low enough for only Mikasa to hear.

“Their station is at the walls. Their job is to prevent anything from coming in, and anyone without clearance from going out,” she says.

Eren draws his focus back to the lesson.

“Are you from outside the walls?”

The question is so sudden Eren thinks he’s imagined it, but she’s looking at him with hard eyes. His mouth falls open, surprised she’d even ask such a thing. “Mikasa…?”

“You said you came from Trost, yet you didn’t know about the complimentary lunches they offer at schools.” She doesn’t sound upset or troubled, just curious. “You don’t know what the Garrison is. There’s the added fact that the Legion has already laid claim to you despite obvious lack of any sort of skill.”

“Are you calling me incompetent?” Eren asks wryly.

“I’m calling you suspicious,” she answers, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Eren crosses his arms over his middle and stifles a yawn. “I’m not from outside the walls.”

“Sina’s underground.”

“No. I’m not allowed to tell anybody.”

“Fine,” Mikasa says, closing her notebook and getting to her feet.

Eren’s surprised that she would walk out in the middle of a lesson, until he realizes that said lesson is over and everyone is milling out. He quickly gathers his things and follows her out into the crowded hallway.

Mikasa doesn’t touch the subject on the way to lunch so Eren offers to pay her meal, which she accepts with a grateful nod.

Sitting on the same table as yesterday, Eren is comfortable enough to loosen himself up. He hunches over his plate, places his elbows on the table, and knocks his knees apart. Walking and sitting like a stiff doll had given him a terrible spasm. Besides, it’s not like anyone is going to be joining them.

“You’ll be a joy to work with during Etiquette,” Mikasa says, unraveling her spoon.

Eren smirks. “Not my fault I wasn’t raised among royalty. I’d probably know what spoon is intended for what if I had a more diverse choice for dinner. Oatmeal and bread, day in and day out. You were lucky to even get a spoon.”

The look Mikasa is giving him stops Eren cold, and he immediately looks down at his pot roast. He’s said too much.

“Eren.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mikasa looks torn between returning to her meal and wanting to get Eren to talk, but a commotion drags their attention to the doorway.

A loud wave of murmurs spreads out from the nearby tables to the outer ones as the hubbub spreads. Even the chink of silverware has come to a stop.

“What’s going on?” Eren says, standing up to get a better look. What he sees knocks the breath out of him. “No way.”

“Eren?” Mikasa says from her seat, sounding alarmed despite her calm.

The laugh that rips out of him is unbidden, and all worries of staying in the shadows are dispelled in the wave of joy that lights up his fingertips. Eren nearly trips in his attempt to get out of his seat, rushing towards the door like a child. Ignoring that this doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense, Eren rudely pushes through the crowd.

“Armin!” 

He’ll recognize that shock of blonde hair wherever he goes.

Armin’s already wide eyes become a smudge wider at the sound of Eren’s voice, and Eren can see his jaw drop when he finally emerges from the crowd and wraps him in a crushing hug. It’s difficult to believe that this isn’t a dream or some hallucination, that Armin is right here, in Eren’s presence, in his arms.

Eren pulls away when the murmurs become immature giggles. He squares his shoulders, glaring everyone down. “What?” he snaps, in his best attempt to imitate Rivaille. It doesn’t work, especially when his voice cracks.

“Aren’t you introducing us to your friend, Jaeger?” Jean says. It’s annoying how the crowd simply parts for him. He looks down at Armin with a charming smile. “Hey there.”

Before Armin can reply, Eren is pulling him away by the wrist, towards the table he’s sharing with Mikasa. “Later,” Eren barks out, not the slightest bit okay with Armin being looked at like some kind of dumpling.

“Eren,” Armin says, struggling to keep up. His frown eventually morphs into a bright smile that melts Eren’s heart on the spot. “I-It’s so nice to see you! I thought I’d never see you again, not after—well—”

“I told you I was gonna get you out of there, didn’t I?” Once they’ve zig-zagged their way towards the back of the dining hall, Eren pulls out a seat for Armin to take. He’s most likely overdoing it, but it’s significantly less awkward than making Armin sit on his lap and never letting him go. “How _did_ you get out? How are you even _here?_ ” Eren hopes that hearing it might solidify the fact that Armin is right there in front of him.

Sitting down, Armin casts Mikasa a brief look before turning to Eren. “The Legion—”

“I knew it!” Eren slams a hand against the table, startling him. “It was Captain Rivaille, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know?” Armin says, wrapping his arms around his middle. “I received a discharge notice that was signed by the Legion. There was a carriage waiting for me the moment I walked outside.”

“Were you in jail?” Mikasa asks, her food forgotten. She’s looking at Armin strangely, and for an undetermined reason, Eren is okay with it. The look doesn’t trigger the same level of irritation Jean’s had.

Armin looks from Mikasa to Eren. “I was told not to disclose anything.” Looking down, shyly, he asks, “Were you?”

Eren debates this. He’s known Mikasa for a total of two days, but she’s just as secluded as Eren. Maybe it’s fine to tell her where they’re from, so long as she keeps it a secret. “We come from St. Chlorba,” he says. “Saying I was from Trost wasn’t exactly a lie.”

Mikasa’s mouth forms a tight ‘o’, and Eren fears the judgment that statement can incite. Attending class with two individuals that have been declared mentally unstable isn’t exactly a comforting situation.

“The school,” Mikasa says, slowly nodding her head as if she might be wrong. “You make it sound like it’s some sort of prison.”

Eren frowns. He suddenly remembers that to the general population, St. Chlorba is still a school for the gifted, much like he believed throughout his childhood years. Admitting that he and Armin are from the institution will only make people think that that is the true reason why the Legion has accepted them among their ranks.

“Close enough,” Eren says.

“I’m Mikasa.”

“Armin,” he says, holding out his hand for her to shake. His hand lingers, Eren notices, but he makes nothing of it. Armin’s probably having an episode similar to the one Eren experienced during his first day.

“Another one for the Legion, huh?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Armin nods as he lets his hand fall.

“For now. I’m not sure whether I should request a transfer… or if they’d even let me. I mean, I want to stay with Eren but…” He turns to give Eren a stern look. “I don’t want to have to fight lycans.”

This isn’t cowardice, Eren can see it. Armin knows what Eren is, and this is his way of letting him know that he refuses to hurt him. Armin’s presence at the court wasn’t even necessary, because Armin’s deduced the course of action any capable organization would take in regards of a creature like Eren all by himself.

If anything, Eren had been right. The Reconnaissance Legion needs someone like Armin.

“I’m happy to have you here, buddy.” Eren wraps an arm around Armin’s shoulder, rubbing his knuckles against his blonde hair. “I need someone to help me out with my homework.”

“Nice to have you back,” he says, but the sour words don’t match the brilliant eyes that shine with glee beyond measure.

❖

The amount of times Eren gets snapped at during Etiquette is record-breaking. Neither the nurses, physicians or the captain have yelled at him so much in so little time, nor have they ever made a laughingstock out of him. Eren is beginning to resent those belonging to the upper class.

Armin breezes through it, knowing full well where each napkin goes and their use. He knows the difference of his forks and spoons and knives, and knows how to properly sit at a table. He also knows how to place his utensils once he’s finished eating, and what it signifies.

“This is bullshit,” Eren mutters, and the remark earns him a smack to the head with his own napkin.

“Looks like we finally discovered why the Legion enlisted him,” Jean boasts, looking like an idiot with a napkin tucked in his shirt. “His utter lack of basic human manners compares to that of a lycan. Can’t trap an animal, might as well trap the next best thing.”

Reiner and Berthold do their best to restrain Eren when he nearly jumps over the table, aiming for Jean’s throat.

“Now, now,” their instructor chastises, tapping her cane against the floor to get them under control. “Herr Kirchstein, it’s rude to call others out on their background. Never bring yourself down to their level.”

The words leave Eren slack-jawed, along with the muffled chuckles all around him.

“With all due respect, madam,” Mikasa says, looking positively murderous. “That was uncalled for.”

“It is reality,” the instructor says, walking along the hall. The echo of her heels is deafening. “Decorum is but a façade in this voracious and cruel world, Miss Ackerman. A smile to the face equals a knife to the back.”

Eren wrestles himself free of the hold on both arms and sags back into his chair. He harrumphs, and is startled when the cane hits his leg hard enough to bruise. He brings his legs under the table, but doesn’t straighten up.

“You’ll be eaten alive with that attitude of yours, insolent child.” She says the last word with disdain. “Do not think your connections place you above the rest of us.”

Eren is tempted to ask of what connections she speaks of, because the Legion is no worthy connection at all. All he ever gets is ridiculed and shamed for it, as if living with the knowledge of what he is isn’t a burden enough.

He wants to cuss. Eren wants to shred the annoying tablecloth to threads, break the plates and shatter the glass. This isn’t fair. If this is what he has to be exposed to in order to… _to what?_ Eren isn’t here because of his future. When Eren signed those papers, he signed his death certificate. If this is living, he would have rather stayed at St. Chlorba.

A kick underneath the table from Armin draws Eren back from his thoughts. Sitting across from him, Armin is staring at him with a plea in his eyes. At the end of the table, Mikasa too is giving him a sympathetic look.

With a sigh, Eren scoots himself up, straightening out in his seat. He keeps his eyes trained on the plate before him, too ashamed to look at anyone the more he wallows in his distress.

Apparently satisfied, the instructor continues making her rounds along the table, talking endlessly of things Eren doesn’t bother paying attention to.

During change, Mikasa and Armin flank Eren’s side, Mikasa’s glare daring anyone to approach him.

Their music lesson, at least, is a complete failure for everyone but Annie, who masters the art of the violin as if it were second nature to her. Marco is somewhat good on the cello, but his range is fairly limited. Everyone else, including Jean, is forced to start from scratch.

“It’s impossible to learn how to play any instruments in just a couple of months,” Connie complains to Sasha, his best friend who is currently trying out a harp. “Can’t believe we’re gonna get graded on this.”

“Whining will get you nowhere,” Sasha says, pulling up a stool next to her chosen instrument. “Although, how’s one person gonna teach every single one of us?”

The question catches Eren’s attention and sees her point. Their coach is an elderly man who can barely stand upright. “Looks like this is another class I’m not passing,” he tells Armin, whose nose is stuck in a book about music.

“We should meet up once class is over,” Armin says instead, making sure that no one else hears him. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Eren slides onto the bench before the piano, and pretends to play. “Good or bad?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Armin sounds nervous, although he tries to hide it behind the book. “It’s about Mikasa.”

“What about her?”

“I think I’ve seen her before.”

At this, Eren’s hands accidentally fall on the piano keys. He cringes at the awful sound they make, and mumbles an apology. “Where?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, it’s really strange, Eren. Before St. Chlorba, when I lived with grandpa, we never really went anywhere—”

“You used to live in Shiganshina,” Eren says, wondering how he hadn’t remembered that when Mikasa mentioned it. “She’s from there, too.”

Armin eventually joins Eren on the bench, putting the book aside and staring down at the keys. He’s about to speak when Mikasa joins them after having a word with Marco. “Can any of you play this thing?”

“Nope,” both Eren and Armin answer in unison, both with smiles.

❖

When class is dismissed, they manage to ride out the wave of students into the neighboring streets, right underneath Erd’s nose. Eren knows it’s a bad idea, but a worthy sacrifice if it means having a private word with Armin. It’s felt like ages, even when it’s only been a couple of days since they last saw each other.

Eren is ready to unleash a barrage of questions and demand he be filled in, but Armin surprises him with a bone-crushing hug.

Under the cover of moonlight, Eren returns the hug with equal strength, basking in the fervent gentleness that is Armin. He’s missed his best friend, he just hadn’t realized how mightily until now.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Eren says, burying his face in Armin’s shoulder.

Armin starts to cry, so they stay like this for a while.

“Ever since you left, I kept having nightmares,” Armin says when he finally calms down enough to speak. He lays his head on his side over Eren’s shoulder, still clinging to him. “Just blood and screaming and… and it felt like something bad was going to happen to you.”

Eren slowly lets out a sigh that ruffles Armin’s hair. He runs his hands down his back in an attempt to calm him. “I’m perfectly fine, Armin, really. Heck, I’m better than fine. I mean, you’re here now. We can start a new, make a name for ourselves, yeah? It won’t be easy, but it’s something to work with.”

“Less than half of the soldiers who venture outside the walls come back.” He hiccups, tightening his hold. “I don’t want us to die.”

“We’re not,” Eren says, his resolve slowly taking form. “I won’t let us. I’ll protect you, Armin.”

“You said that in the dream, too. You said you’d fight for me and Mikasa.”

“That’s because I will.”

Armin pulls away from Eren, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his uniform. “No, it’s not that. Eren, you said you’d protect me and _Mikasa_.” He waits for a moment, and all Eren can do is nod, not following him. Apparently his face says as much. “I’ve never heard that name until today.”

Taken aback, Eren finally pulls his arms away. Armin isn’t one to lie, he has no need to. “Are you sure?”

Sniffing, Armin takes a deep breath. “Not like I saw her in the dream… but that was definitely the name you said.”

“Maybe it’s…” Eren casts a look around, unsure of what to say or how to react. He’s surprised, but not as much as he should be. “Maybe your mind’s playing tricks on you.” Armin has it in him to glare. “You know, like déjà vu.”

“It wasn’t déjà vu. I even wrote it down on my journal.” Running a hand over his face, Armin sniffs again. “Maybe I’ve heard her name somewhere before, a long time ago… but I did dream of it recently.”

“That’s very strange.”

“It’s terrifying is what it is!” Armin says, his voice nearly a squeak. “If that came true, what about the rest of the dream?”

Eren holds out his hands, trying to calm Armin down. If he keeps shouting like that, someone’s going to come and investigate. Not that they’re doing anything illegal, but Erd should be looking for him by now. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Armin. The Legion won’t allow it.” He figures it’s best to keep his deadline out of the discussion, since it wouldn’t do to have Armin freaking out over a possible execution six months from now.

“It felt really real,” he says, looking down at his feet. “I felt cold, and my hands were wet.” Armin holds up a hand and spreads his fingers. “And there was this awful roaring. It didn’t sound human at all.”

“That’s why they’re called nightmares,” Eren tries to reason, finally placing a hand on Armin’s elbow. “Give it several days and you won’t even remember any of it.”

Nodding his head, Armin gives Eren a teary smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

“There we go.” Eren fixes Armin’s jacket, straightening out the collar of his shirt and dusting of invisible dirt from the emblem on his shoulder. “We make the best of the moment, yeah? Make sure to make it through another day, and eventually we’ll get to see the ocean.”

Armin’s eyes light up at that, and his nodding becomes more pronounced. “You think we’ll actually go there one day?”

“Heck yeah, we will. Although, before that, there’s a bunch of things I want to show you. I don’t know how much you saw from St. Chlorba to Sina but, Armin, there’s so many amazing things out there.”

“I’d really like to.”

“I should probably talk to Rivaille, or maybe Erwin—”

“In fact, why not have a word with both of them?” comes Erd’s stern voice, making the both of them jump and cling to each other. “I’ve been waiting outside the bloody school for the last ten minutes.” For someone who’s usually lighthearted and unruffled, Erd can be frightening when he wants to be.

“Sorry about that, sir,” Eren says, releasing his hold on Armin and tucking his hands in his pockets. He gives Erd a knowing smile, but Erd’s not buying it. “Please don’t tell the captain?”

His grave expression doesn’t change, even while he sighs. “This isn’t a game, little man. We have our orders.”

Eren gives Armin a look, but his shoes seem to be fascinating all of a sudden. “It won’t happen again,” Eren says. “I just wanted to have a quick word with my friend.”

Erd’s glare shifts from Eren to Armin, and Armin all but places Eren in front of him as some sort of shield. “Aren’t you with our division? The new critter?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“You’re human,” Erd says, his voice low enough to be a mumble. “A melting pot is what we’ve become. Come along, you two. We’re heading back right this instant.”

Both Eren and Armin reply with a “Sir!”

By the time they reach the main road, the afterschool hustle and bustle has quieted. Not a single student is seen, and only the instructors move about as they prepare for their ride home. Several of them sneer at the sight of the Wings of Freedom emblazoned on Erd’s military issued uniform.

Armin doesn’t break the silence until Erd’s far enough ahead to not overhear them. “Hey, Eren?”

“Yeah?” Eren pulls his jacket closer to him when a gust of wind makes him shiver. It’s not as cold as it was the night before, but it’s chilly enough to be uncomfortable. He really ought to start carrying a coat with him.

“How are you doing in class overall? I thought it’d be difficult considering…”

“Yeah,” says Eren before he can finish the sentence. He knows exactly what Armin is referring to. “Yeah, no, I mean, it’s not easy but it’s not like it’s impossible. The captain got me a book and is making me read from it to polish my—”

“He _knows?_ ”Armin interrupts, sounding shocked. “Oh my—how did he find out?”

Eren gestures for him to lower his voice. “I told him, sort of. He wasn’t mean about it, either. He’s actually helping me.”

“That’s really kind of him.” Armin sounds awed.

“Captain Rivaille is secretly a kind man,” Eren says, nodding his head with conviction. He’s seen it, even if it’s only been a brief glimpse. “He’s also my custodian now.”

“Aren’t you too old to be somebody’s ward?”

Eren shrugs. “S’not so bad. I have a roof over my head, warm food, an education. Sure it’ll be a bitch when it comes to paying them back but… I guess… life in the Recon Legion will make it worthwhile. If we win, we’ll get out of here, and that alone is worth looking forward to.” Heaven knows it’s the only thought that truly keeps him going.

“I wonder what use I’ll be to them,” Armin says, looking up at the stars as he walks. He looks enraptured by them. Eren can’t help but smile. “Either way, I guess you’re right. Why die locked up in some cell when you can die helping the human race?”

Bumping his shoulder to Armin’s, Eren clicks his tongue. “Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Truth be told, I’m not sure there was ever a choice to make.”

“There’s always a choice,” Eren says, his momentary happiness dwindling. “Armin—”

“I’ll still think about it,” he says, but Eren knows he won’t. Armin is far too loyal, too much of a good friend to leave Eren alone in this. That’s something Eren’s going to have to live with.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Eren mumbles, still trying to come to terms with that.

The rest of their walk back is spent in relative silence, the way Eren and Armin communicate best. When one spends years of torment locked away behind soundproofed walls, one eventually runs out of things to talk about. Not even Armin’s book had been enough to fuel the fire of every conversation. During these past couple of months, all they ever did was sit side by side and dream of a different life. A better one. Eren’s still to decide if this is a better one.

“Young man, I trust you know your way through the underground,” Erd says once they arrive at the estate.

Armin nods, giving Eren’s arm a squeeze. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“See ya’,” Eren says, watching Armin retreat into the darkness of a passageway he hadn’t known existed. “How come I get to cut across the mansion?”

“Because you’re a special snowflake.” Unlike with Rivaille, Eren can’t really gauge Erd’s sarcasm. “Besides, the commander would like a word with you. Thanks to your dallying, you’re late.”

Eren’s stomach bottoms out. “Commander Smith?”

Erd walks across the front garden, greeting the several staff members he encounters along the way. He opens the front door and steps aside, waiting on Eren.

Dozens of thoughts cut through Eren’s mind in a brief moment. He tells himself that he’s done nothing wrong, at least, nothing that merits punishment. Rivaille had mentioned Erwin’s inability to sense him during the argument yesterday; it can’t possibly be that, unless Rivaille outright told Erwin about Eren’s presence in the end.

Eren balls his fists, suddenly realizing that he’s left his books at the academy when he does so. A wave of panic later, he remembers Rivaille saying that he won’t be here tonight. He won’t be skinned alive just yet. At least, not by the captain.

Slowly letting out a breath, Eren walks past Erd with his head hanging low. “Best of luck to you,” Erd says, shutting the door and leaving Eren alone.

Used to the usually omnipresent fuss that occurs during the night hours within the mansion, Eren finds it eerily silent when not a soul roams about. The gas lamps are off, and only a handful of candles light the way to the parlor he and Rivaille have spent his first day in with the company of tea.

Eren’s breath mists as he releases a shuddering sigh, hesitantly peeking into the parlor.

Erwin stands before the crackling fireplace, leaning against it with his back to Eren. There’s a glass filled with amber liquid in his hand, and he sloshes it around as he stares at the fire. It’s strange seeing him out of his regalia. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

Swallowing around the unpleasant knot in his throat, Eren raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Erwin straightens up and turns to him, looking as if he hadn’t been expecting for Eren to show up. Surprise melts away into a charismatic smile as he gestures for Eren to take a seat. “I simply wanted you to join me for a tête-à-tête.”

Unsure of what that means, Eren sits on the armchair he’s offered. He sinks into the soft velvet, underestimating the cushioning. It’s obscenely comfortable, more so than any bed he’s ever slept in.

Pulling a small footstool in front of Eren’s seat, Erwin makes himself comfortable on it. He laces his fingers together, elbows on his knees as he settles into a casual slump that makes him look more approachable. Eren appreciates it, but it isn’t enough to stop the nervous tremors just underneath his skin.

“I believe that the key to a successful unit is harmony and communication,” he says, looking up at Eren with such kindness that the tension in his muscles slowly begins to unwind. “Which is why I like to take time and simply talk to my soldiers, make sure they’re comfortable with their surroundings.”

Eren nods and licks his dry lips. The more he thinks about it, the more obvious Erwin’s intentions are. He’s keeping a close eye on his pawns in a civilized manner. It’s a smart thing to do.

“How was your day today? I hope you’ve become acclimated to your new school.”

No matter how Eren views it, the conversation feels awkward. “It was average, but better when I discovered that Armin would be joining my class.”

“Mr. Arlert proved to have exceptional reasoning skills for someone his age,” Erwin says, popping his knuckles. “When Rivaille informed me of your request, I’ll admit I was skeptical at first, but I thought it would do you some good to have at least one familiar face in these troubled times.”

That Rivaille had paid him any heed delights Eren, but, “Troubled times?”

“I trust you haven’t forgotten why you’re here.” One of Erwin’s hands covers Eren’s knee, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “Having a ticking clock over your head must be terrifying.”

“Not really,” Eren confesses, scratching idly at his arm. “Maybe it’s because it hasn’t set in yet, but I hardly give it much thought. Whenever I do, I just remember that this life is better than the one I had at that place. I’m eternally grateful.” _If he repeats enough, maybe he’ll be able to believe himself._

“It makes me happy to hear that,” Erwin says.

Erwin’s soft smile is a lovely sight, and it’s almost as amazing as his touch – his fingers gently stroking Eren’s leg as they converse about everything and nothing. Hypnotic, Eren dares call it, because time slips by them unnoticed.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, sir,” Eren says when he finally gathers the courage he needs. “During my time at St. Chlorba, Armin would always tell me about the man who would always visit.” At Erwin’s chuckle, Eren sighs with relief. “Why did you?”

“Well,” Erwin starts, running a hand over his chin. “When I first went to visit an old friend a matter of years ago, the sound of a child crying caught my attention. You were but a toddler back then, but the lungs on you were something to behold.” Blue eyes turn down towards Eren’s hands, where they’re fisted over his knees. “The nurses would tell me about the nightmares. About how you would wake up screaming in pure terror.”

Eren shuts his eyes, tightening his fists until he feels his nails digging into the skin of his palms. This is how Erwin knows about the nightmares. There’s no connection here, as he’d been expecting. It’s just another dead end in an endless road of questions.

“Even after my friend passed, I would continue to visit. Left there at such a young age, with no one to care for you but a staff of cold humans… I knew what you were the moment I caught whiff of you.” Erwin takes his hand, giving it a powerful enough squeeze to get Eren opening his eyes and gazing at him. “Our species may be at war, but you were just an innocent child. You still are, for all intents and purposes.”

“Why didn’t you…?” Eren lets the question fall away, aware of how silly and embarrassing it will sound. He doesn’t understand why Erwin didn’t just take him away, and left him there to suffer.

Erwin sighs, his eyes shining with something akin to regret. “I had to wait for the opportune moment or else risk the disbanding of the branch. In the end, it all worked out, somewhat.”

“I have a pending death sentence over my head.”

“I won’t let them have you, Eren.” The intensity of his words leaves him breathless, but there’s something very wrong about them.

Something doesn’t quite feel right, and Eren is willing to bet it has everything to do with the unexpected desire to press his mouth to Erwin’s. A part of him writes it off to days of pent up frustration and the wave of gratitude he’s currently feeling towards the man. He’s handsome beyond description, as well.

The thought jars something in Eren’s head. He’s had these same exact thoughts before. These feelings are similar to the ones that had drawn Eren to the door of Erwin’s chamber. This is lust, so undiluted and severe that Eren has trouble breathing properly.

“What are you doing to me?” Eren says, voiced so hushed he wonders if Erwin even hears them.

“I’m sorry?”

“These… these feelings…” He squirms in his seat, ashamed of the hardness below his belt.

Erwin is smiling again, but this time it’s something minute. His eyes dim as they trail everything from the end of Eren’s lashes, to the bend of his knee. “I’ve heard it’s a part of growing up,” Erwin says coyly, his thumb caressing Eren’s thigh.

“These aren’t my own feelings,” Eren says, and the resoluteness in his voice shocks him. “I’ve had them before, but not for you.”

Erwin leans forward, resting his elbows at either side of Eren’s knees, effectively trapping him in his seat. Eren’s entire body tenses, a surge of feral fear fighting for control over the arousal that battle deep inside of him. He can’t move however, be it out of fear or something else.

Tapping Eren’s belt buckle with the tip of his nail, Erwin cocks his head to the side. “I won’t lay a finger on you as long as it’s continued to be unwanted. I also won’t risk contaminating my scent.” The way he says the words doesn’t sound condescending, and Eren wonders how he does it.

“How are you doing this?” Even when Erwin’s hand withdraws, Eren feels like running far away.

“Not by choice. We purebloods are designed to carry on the species one way or another. It proved to be a burden for the longest time.”

“So last night—” Eren shuts his mouth the instant the words leave it.

“Humans host soirees, we host abendessens.” Erwin takes his glass from where he’s set it, and swallows the last of his drink. “It is expected of us purebloods as a social sort of festivity.”

Laying his hands over the armrests of his chair, Eren drums his fingertips over the thick fabric. He isn’t upset, which means he already knew. “Abendessens?”

Erwin’s smirk ignites fire in Eren’s gut. “A feast for the senses. Reciprocated and unrestrained bloodletting and sexual intercourse.”

The way he says it, so casual and unashamed, makes Eren want to shrink into himself. He isn’t completely ignorant, he knows sex when he sees it, but his mind had somehow tried to find another explanation for it, especially after seeing so many people involved. _Especially_ when Rivaille had been explicitly invited.

“If you ever change your mind, I can have something arranged,” he continues, the words rolling off his tongue in the form of a purr. “I’ve seen the way you look at my captain.”

Eren can feel his face warm, but he doesn’t trust his voice enough to deny it.

“I apologize if this was by any means uncomfortable.” Erwin gets to his feet with the grace of a feline, taking the glass with him as he goes. “To be able to achieve the level of your comrades, first you must come to terms with the monsters we are. This isn’t the haven that was St. Chlorba, Eren. Not everyone will be as kind as Petra, or as helpful as Erd.” Towering over Eren, Erwin looks down at him with a grave set between his eyes. “When my kind sets their eyes on something they want, they’ll take it, and they won’t take no for an answer.” The implication of his words hang heavy between them.

“During the upcoming months you’ll learn self defense, how to use state-of-the-art weapons, the importance of teamwork and how not to get cornered by insatiable commanders.” This last one is accented by a lick to his lips. “But you needn’t worry. Rivaille may be beneath me, but my captain is violently possessive of his playthings. I’ve reason to believe he’ll take pleasure in skinning me alive were I to lay a finger on you.”

It’s another instance in which Eren figures he should be flattered, but instead he feels dirty. Hearing these things from Erwin’s mouth are insulting and disrespectful, to him and Rivaille both. This is none of Erwin’s concern.

“He dreams of it, too,” Erwin says, and Eren desperately wants to be dismissed before anything else can be damaged. “For decades we shared a bed, until he simply stopped. He didn’t always have those shadows under his eyes, mind you.”

Eren avoids meeting Erwin’s gaze. “In a place like this, who wouldn’t have nightmares?”

“What are your dreams about?” Erwin says instead, but it doesn’t sound like a question he’s expecting an answer to. It’s thoughtful, introspective. “He once told me a boy had held his hand in spite of the blood drenching them both. He dreams of horses.”

The discomfort only grows the longer he stays in the commander’s presence. These are personal things that shouldn’t be discussed without permission, especially in the absence of the host.

Despite his alluring smile, Erwin is ostensible at best.

With Rivaille, it’s easy to expect cruelty and coldness, but Eren has found sympathy and understanding instead.

Eren’s life has become a game of false appearances, and for someone who has had very limited interaction with a wide variety of faces, it’ll be impossible to pinpoint who is friend or foe on first impressions alone. He’ll have to tread carefully now, far more than before.

“One last question before I take my leave,” Erwin says, returning to the spot before the fireplace he had been in when Eren arrived. It’s impossible to read what’s going through his head. “I know it may sound childish but, if you’re ever granted the opportunity to go beyond the walls, anywhere at all, where would you go?”

He deliberates on telling Erwin the first answer that comes to mind – a lie – but he stops himself from doing so. His conversation with Armin is still fresh in his mind, and that single mind-baffling sight is what urges him to keep moving forward.

“The ocean,” he finally answers. “I would like to see the ocean.”

“The ocean,” Erwin repeats, and nods his head.

Eren watches him fix his shirt, making certain that all of his buttons are in place before heading out. He adjusts his belt, and verifies that his golden hair is tucked where it needs to be.

“It seems like you and Rivaille have something in common after all,” he says. “And don’t worry, I won’t alert him of your tardiness. His punishments are far from bearable. This’ll be our dirty little secret.”

Bowing his head, Eren watches him walk out the door.


	9. Solium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that? A quick update! I would sincerely like to thank everyone who has been kind enough to drop a review/kudos/bookmarks and all that jazz. You guys just keep me motivated like you wouldn't even know. I should probably get to replying to those reviews once I don't feel like I'm about to puke my guts out. ~
> 
> Anyways, for those who requested to be informed when such a thing occurs: eruri warning in this chapter. By now I think you guys know there will be plenty of that, so uh, my apologies to everyone who doesn't dig the pairing. Also, smut ahoy! Of the non-eruri kind, in case you're wondering.
> 
> Enjoy Levi's POV.

Nightmares often offer a respite from the real horrors that lurk around the edges of Rivaille’s existence. He wouldn’t call this a life, not exactly. Being a pawn hardly gives him enough free will to think there will be a better tomorrow, that one day he’ll break free from the cage he’s willingly trapped himself in.

The blood and gore and screams for help are sweeter when they are all inside his sick mind, rather than when he’s causing it. He’s long since resigned himself to accepting the burden of the wicked things he’s done and will continue to do for humankind’s sake. He will strive for freedom, but not his own -- he’s no longer worthy of it.

Instead, the only freedom he grants himself is that of his fingers as they stroke the keys of Erwin’s piano, bleeding out a tune that’s long haunted his dreams. It’s too lively and hopeful for the strangling darkness that has made his subconscious its home, but he plays it anyway. He plays it for the boy that so often dies in his dreams, with Rivaille’s blade to his nape, choking in his own blood. The boy who once made him promise to see the ocean with.

Rivaille breathes in, eyes shut. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to peace, sitting on this bench and letting go of his self-loathing through music rather than enraged yelling.

“I haven’t heard you play in years,” Erwin says, entering the room just as Rivaille’s melody becomes something whimsical. “It’s always the same song.”

Rivaille hums in acknowledgement, but he doesn’t open his eyes as he drifts deeper into his own escape.

He doesn’t fear his commander. Dread him, yes; everyone dreads the pureblood’s presence, being known as the harbinger of death puts a damper on people’s moods. There’s no sense in worrying about lowering his defenses. If Erwin wants him dead, he’ll see to it quickly and efficiently and there will be nothing Rivaille can to do stop him.

Wordlessly, Erwin sits by his side to listen.

Eren once asked him of their relationship, and Rivaille had simply said that it was complicated. Three hundred years and it’s been complicated since the very first day Erwin found him nearly starved to death on the streets. From nurturing caregiver to avenging demon, Erwin asked for his payment in the form of unquestioned loyalty. Rivaille had given it to him. His life, his innocence, and his freedom; Rivaille gave Erwin more than what he had, which wasn’t much to begin with, leaving him in debt with himself.

He doesn’t resent him, however. Aside from the torture he’s had to inflict, the creatures he’s had to kill, the lives he’s had to sacrifice – Rivaille’s lived a fair life, wealthy and hedonistic.

Rivaille respects him, lusts for the monster that turned him into an equally hideous if not more terrifying beast, but he doesn’t love him, not in the way every other vampire does, and certainly not in the way Erwin wants him to.

Slowing his tune until it comes to a stop, Rivaille places his hands over his lap.

“Eren is still in his quarters,” Erwin says without preamble, running his fingers over the piano keys. He knows better than to expect dust on them, even after spending years beneath a sheet, forgotten. “Class started two hours ago.”

“He’s yet to recover from yesterday’s tests. His leg’s not fully regenerated.”

Erwin nods in understanding, but seeing his mouth pressed into a thin line tells Rivaille he isn’t satisfied. “You’ve placed soldiers lacking limbs on the frontlines before. Now you’re keeping them in bed for a limp.”

“You left him in my charge, and I saw it fit to keep him locked down,” he says, unimpressed with Erwin’s accusation.

Eren’s been with them for three weeks now, and after a small bump sometime along that first week, he’s grown fairly comfortable with the idea of living with a species designed to destroy his kind. The kid has enough courage and determination to set any superior officer to shame, and Rivaille respects that. His tolerance to pain increases with every method of experimentation Hanji delivers, but he’s still a child despite his age.

Rivaille doesn’t want to admit that seeing the boy in tears stirred something in him, a long buried memory he would rather do without. Erwin had played savior, picking Rivaille up from the streets beaten and bloody. Who’s to play savior for Eren?

“Regardless, Gunther tells me his combat skills have exceeded his own.”

“With all the fights he’s gotten into at the academy, I’d be surprised if they hadn’t,” Rivaille says. Eren’s temper is a beast all its own. The amounts of cuts and broken lips Hanji’s tended to is surreal.

“We’ve managed to bring in a specimen,” Erwin says, giving Rivaille a look that speaks volumes.

Eren’s nowhere near ready enough to fight a wolf; he’s only ever seen one during the attack at that shithole of a hospital. He’s still trying to come to terms with the fact that he is one. Triggering a transformation in a controlled environment had been a stressful enough test, Rivaille doubts Eren will be able to handle defending himself against a lycan.

“When do you need him ready for?” is what he says instead of demanding the brat get some rest.

Rivaille respects Erwin, but that doesn’t mean he trusts him.

Better to pretend, to keep up the uninterested façade than give Erwin a weak point to exploit.

“Noon,” he says, shifting to stand up. “It’ll be best once everyone’s asleep. Wouldn’t want to draw any unwanted attention.”

Sight focused on the piano, Rivaille keeps his silence, knowing that Erwin will take it as affirmation.

Strong hands grip his shoulders, long fingers pressing to the column of Rivaille’s neck hard enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to bruise. Erwin towers over him as he lovingly strokes whatever skin is exposed above the high collar of his shirt and cravat. He drops a kiss atop of Rivaille’s head.

It’s a display of possession, one Rivaille knows all too well.

“Had I know that all it would take to soften that heart of yours would be a pair of green eyes, I would have done some minor adjustments.”

“I’m surprised you even considered me to have a heart,” Rivaille retorts.

“Too much of one, it would seem.” Erwin speaks onto Rivaille’s hair, slowly moving downward to press his mouth against his ear. “If this becomes a problem, I’m sure you’ll be able to function without it.”

“Carve it out and put it on your mantelpiece?”

Erwin chuckles and lays a kiss over the exposed skin of Rivaille’s neck. “Careful now, Captain. I just might.”

With that last exchange, Erwin leaves.

Once again, Rivaille has underestimated Erwin’s mastery of deduction. No matter the filter, he will always arrive at the core of the problem without even a push.

Whether he likes it or not, Erwin now has leverage, something he’s never had before, not when concerning Rivaille. He left himself open to weakness, and now he’s hopeless to stop whatever master plan Erwin wants to get in motion.

It’s astounding, just how much unspoken words can alter a situation. The careful fortress Rivaille has spent centuries holding together has been breached, and the floodwaters have begun to push their way inside.

Standing up from the bench, Rivaille has no trouble admitting that it is the beginning of his ultimate demise.

“I wonder what sort of death you’ve planned out for me,” he says to the emptiness of the music room. Be it in the battlefield or wrapped in satin bed sheets, Rivaille is ready to face it. He doesn’t fear death, for all things must come to an end.

Covering the piano once more, Rivaille takes the candleholder and exits the room, shutting the door behind him.

There are reports for him to go through waiting on his desk, as well as several warrants issued by the Royal Police.

The glassware in the dining room is in need of polishing, and he figures he should do so himself, since Erwin’s staff lack the basic concept of diligence when it comes to cleanliness. He’s certain to have seen dust motes swirling on the second floor, and spider webs along the hallway leading to his private quarters.

There are a dozen things that need doing, and instead he finds himself in the tight passageway to leads to the lower levels of the estate.

He undoes the buttons of his waistcoat and loosens the cravat with his left hand, his right holding fast to the candleholder. He pushes the wooden door open with his foot, and lets it slam behind him when he begins to descend the stairs.

From the darkness comes Eren’s gasp, interrupting his light snoring.

“Rise and shine, your Highness,” Rivaille says, placing the candleholder on a stool before removing the outer layers of his clothing and folding them. He neatly places them on the empty guard’s chair.

Eren sits up on his bed, his hair a disarrayed wreck. He rubs at his eyes, protesting about the light. “Good evening, sir,” he says, voice scratchy.

Reaching for the ring of keys hanging on the wall, he unlatches the iron gates and opens them. He then turns to light up the other torches along the room. “How’s your foot?” 

Throwing the covers aside, Eren wiggles the toes on his left foot. 

“Can you walk on it?” Rivaille crosses his arms as he watches Eren climb off his bed, tangling himself in his sheets and nearly falling face first. 

He stands up eventually, wincing only a slight bit when he deposits his weight on it. “I’m good to go.”

“Good, because you’re on a laundry duty.”

“Don’t I have class today?”

“Need I repeat myself?”

Eren shakes his head and heads over to his chest, pulling out – what Rivaille hopes are – a pair of clean pants. All shame lost after spending weeks bathing with male and female soldiers alike, Eren slips out of his pajamas and changes into his pants. He has considerably more trouble locating a clean shirt.

Rivaille watches him intently, or rather, he watches the way his body moves. Broad shoulders and sharp collarbones are a cause for sin. Narrow hip bones that disappear – along with a small trail of dark hair – into the band of his pants are a temptation. There’s meat on his bones now, and the skin that stretches over it still holds its tawny color, despite the lack of sunlight. He sometimes fantasizes about his skin tasting like cinnamon.

Even while seeing the monster Eren can transform into, all jagged teeth and ashy skin, twisted limbs and mangled snout, Rivaille desires him with surprising intensity. There’s still life in him, regardless of the shitty hand he’s been dealt with.

When Eren clears his throat, Rivaille looks up at his eyes, eyes that twinkle with a knowing light while slipping on his shirt.

Of course Eren knows how much Rivaille longs for a taste, and Rivaille knows that the feeling is quite mutual. Erwin’s words on that day only served to give the kid some incentive towards flirting, resulting on Rivaille’s strength of will being avidly abused. There’s only so much he can keep under his perfect self-control.

“Bring your bed sheets,” he says, looking away when Eren’s smile becomes an inviting smirk. “This whole damn area smells like dog.”

Without any smart remarks, Eren does as he’s told.

They make their way through the underground headquarters, earning themselves questioning glances from those around them. Rivaille is unfazed by them, but Eren lowers his head as he crosses the common room, carrying a basket of dirty laundry.

Behind the communal showers is a rarely used laundry room that, judging by Eren’s expletive, he hadn’t known was there.

“I got poured on last week,” he complains, plugging the tub and turning on the water. “Kinda defeated the purpose since it all got muddy again.”

Ignoring his whining, Rivaille reaches for the detergent he knows is hidden in a fake linen crate. Everyone favors doing their laundry outside, but Rivaille would rather do his own indoors, to prevent Eren’s predicament.

After sprinkling some of the powder into the water while Eren dumps his laundry in, Rivaille begins rolling up his sleeves up to his elbows and looks around for a washboard.

“Captain, I can do this myself, really.”

Rivaille gives him a withering look, and pulls out the washboard from behind a basket. He throws it into the tub, causing a splash that soaks Eren to the bone.

“I expect you to.”

Knowing that he won’t risk glaring at his superior, Rivaille is amused by how he glares at his own clothing instead.

With lack of a better place to sit, Rivaille props himself up onto a square crate, back against the wall. He crosses his legs and sets his hands comfortably on his lap. If asked, he’ll simply state that it’s his duty to make sure Eren doesn’t do a half-assed job.

Eren looks at him steadily, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he removes his shirt and pins it on the line that runs across the room, over their heads.

Rivaille watches him as he kneels beside the tub and sinks his arms into the sudsy water more than is necessary. He reaches for the piece of clothing closest to him and sloshes it around before taking it to the washboard with more force than necessary. The action causes water to splash Eren’s chest and spill onto the floor.

Ready to bet it’s been done intentionally, Rivaille isn’t about to complain about such a stunning sight. New to the military, Eren isn’t as physically built as he should be, but he’s slowly getting there. Hardy meals and extensive training are slowly shaping him into the soldier he’s expected to become.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Eren says, scrubbing a pair of his uniform pants. “Last night I started reading chapter seven before falling asleep.”

As Rivaille had expected, Eren _can_ read, he just barely took the time to practice. He still has room for plenty improvement, but Rivaille’s ears no longer bleed whenever he attempts reading a paragraph. He figures Eren’s blonde friend has had a hand in it too, since he’s been helping Eren with his school assignments.

“I half figured reading for leisure was below you,” Rivaille says.

“It’s fun once you get past all the exposition at the beginning.” Eren releases the pants and goes for a shirt instead. “I really wanted to wait until you were available to join me, but after yesterday’s test I…”

Rivaille looks up from his nails when Eren drops the sentence, and finds him staring down at the water with glossy eyes.

“Why are vampires so bent on protecting humans?”

It’s an odd question to be sure, one Rivaille knows isn’t discussed at the academy due to the ignorance in regard to the existence of chiropters. There are half a dozen ways to answer that question, and Rivaille suspects that Eren’s already thought of most of them. A matter of pride, to protect their main food source, to sate their thirst for vengeance against the creatures that trapped them inside a cage… There are so many things to answer with.

“Because we remember what it is to be human,” he offers instead. It’s the excuse Erwin had given him when he was asked to join the Legion. At its core, that is the Legion’s mission. To protect and serve; make the best out of a disease that turns them into the worst.

Hanji had pushed him too far yesterday. Everyone had seen it, but no one had the mind to stop it. Brutality is an important trait in a world this cruel, something every soldier must learn to deal with and apply to himself at one point or another. The Legion has forsaken its last shreds of humanity to ensure humankind’s victory.

It’s a vicious cycle of irony that cannot be broken.

“I was never human to begin with,” Eren says, resuming his scrubbing. His hair hides his eyes, but the way he scrubs is enough indication of how upset he is. If he doesn’t calm down, he’ll end up hurting his fingers. “How can I appreciate what we’re fighting for when all I’ve been is an animal my whole life?”

Rivaille considers him for a moment. As far as he knows, Eren has been aware about his condition for only a matter of weeks. He’s lived as a human all his life, which is more than he can say about himself.

“Humans are vile and dissolute creatures,” he says as he returns to inspect his impeccably clean nails. “Besides, humanity is relative.”

“Still,” Eren says, acting like the petulant child he is.

“The air inside these walls is wretched, and I’d rather face a thousand lycanthropes in their turf, where the wind smells like wildflowers and honey. We fight for freedom.”

Eren eyes are on him now, big and gleaming with wishful hopes. He of all people must understand how sought-after an idea like freedom is.

Leaning back on his haunches, Eren rests his soapy hands on the ledge of the bathtub. His face is thoughtful, making him look older than he truly is. In moments like these, Rivaille is unsure if he’d rather take Eren to his bed and feverishly have him, or coddle him and spoil him rotten. Had the situation been any different, Rivaille would have probably done both.

“That was awfully poetic of you, sir.”

“Shut up.”

Eren smiles despite the turmoil evident on his face.

“Commander Smith told me about you wanting to see the ocean.” Eren runs the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving behind a trail of suds and wetting the ends of his hair. “Not a lot of people believe it exists. What convinced you, if I may ask?”

Rivaille hadn’t been informed of said conversation, and an uncomfortable wedge slides into his mind. Erwin’s begun his game, and now it’s only a matter of playing along until he shows his hand.

He opts to not answer the question, staring at Eren until he returns to his chore without question.

For the longest time only the slop of wet fabric can be heard, along with Eren hissing whenever he accidentally scrapes his fingers. He begins to hum eventually, and Rivaille instantly recognizes it as the tune he’d been playing earlier. No wonder Erwin had come; as it seems the entire estate had heard it.

“‘Sometimes she did not know what she feared, what she desired; whether she feared or desired what had been or what would be, and precisely what she desired, she did not know’,” Eren recites without taking his eyes off the items in his hand.

Rivaille’s fingers twitch where they rest over his lap. He recognizes the phrase from the last chapter Eren read out to him. “If only you were that good at memorizing your lessons.”

“I didn’t understand what it meant, so I went back to it,” Eren says with a shrug. “I read it so many times that I memorized it, and later on I discovered that I really liked that passage.”

“Why?” The question is out before he can censor himself, but Eren doesn’t notice the slip-up.

It takes a moment for him to answer. “I’m not really sure why. It’s confusing. _She_ sounded confused. Thinking about the past, the future, being afraid and… desiring it.”

Fear and desire. It’s remarkable just how often those two traits coincide.

“Anyways, it really stuck out,” he says, finishing up the last pieces and leaving them to float in the water. “No specific reason why.”

Rivaille watches him pull the tub’s plug, draining it out. He turns open the spout and pushes the laundry under the running water, hurriedly rinsing and wringing it. Once done, each item is pinned to the clothesline where it drips water onto the stone floor. It takes Eren a while to properly hang his bed sheets without having them drag.

“Is there anything you’d like washed?” Eren says once he’s finished, turning back to rinse the tub. He gestures to Rivaille’s shirt. “That looks—”

“It’s cleaner than any half-assed job you could ever do,” Rivaille says, catching onto Eren’s intentions.

Eren’s eyes are wide, and his cheeks are pink in embarrassment, but he doesn’t look away. That alone is a milestone in their tumultuous relationship. Eren’s getting bolder, and it’s getting harder for Rivaille to push him away. True, Rivaille could squash him like a miniature and insignificant bug, but the problem lies in him not wanting to.

He turns away from Rivaille first, flustered. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Getting himself down from the crate, Rivaille adjusts the sleeves of his shirt. He rolls them down again, buttoning the cuff.

From here he can see that the water has soaked more than just Eren’s shirt, and he forces himself to look away before the brat can notice him ogling his ass. It’s atrocious, the thoughts that lovely swell inspires, especially when Rivaille’s had his hands on Eren’s dick before. Of course, there had been no interest back then, just the blatant dislike of his mangy smell.

However, something catches his attention after he’s looked away. Even while cutting Eren’s hair, he hadn’t noticed it before. “What is that on your neck?” It’s a mark he would have ignored were it on some other person, but something about it being on Eren disturbs him.

“Huh?” Eren runs a hand across the back of his neck, pats a little ways up and down, and frowns. “Is it a bug or something?”

Rivaille closes the distance between them, combing Eren’s hair out of the way. Along his nape is what appears to be a nevus that is slightly paler than the rest of his skin. It’s elliptical in shape and far too precise to be anything natural.

Eren shivers when Rivaille presses his hand to it, and he recoils as if stung. “Your hands are cold,” Eren says, flinching at the sudden move. “What is it?”

“It’s just a birthmark,” he says, taking a step away. For the first time in years, Rivaille feels out of place in his own skin.

“Is it that bad?” Eren looks worried, placing a hand over the spot once more. “No one’s ever really mentioned it before.”

“No.” Rivaille adjusts his clothing and turns for the door. He needs a breath of fresh air in the silently suffocating room. “Report to Hanji’s office at noon,” he says loud enough to not be argued with. Eren doesn’t say a word as he stays behind.

❖

_Freedom._

Freedom from these walls, freedom from this city, freedom from this estate, this room, and freedom from the very bones that keep him grounded.

Rivaille craves freedom from the inoperative heart in his chest, the one that threatens to consume him with ancient longing. For something dead it causes him grief beyond comprehension. For someone without warm blood in his veins, the overwhelming wave of emotions long forgotten is colossal.

Freedom is a fickle thing, one that takes sick pleasure in choosing where it should be applied to.

He kicks and yells against the void in his old mind, grasping in the darkness for something he knows isn’t there, but should be. There are names and faces, promises and ghosts he needs to take back. Now he has one, but the nauseating anguish isn’t enough to abate his thirst for more.

Centuries’ old journal spread on his desk, Rivaille scratches out each usage of the word _boy_ he’s ever recorded, and substitutes them with the name _Eren_.

He promised Eren victory. He promised Eren the ocean.

Catalogued or not, they are still just eerily coherent dreams that form a surprisingly clear picture. They aren’t memories; at least not his own. He can’t look back and say that he remembers saying and doing those things, but what he does recall, is the way his hands shook when he took the blade to Eren’s neck. There had been a smile on that shadow of a face, one that expressed gratitude for the respite from the pain.

Rivaille paces in the semi-darkness of his room, the only light coming from the glass doors leading to his balcony.

The creak of the door behind him is unnecessary, because Rivaille could sense Erwin from down the hallway.

His silence speaks volumes as he stands at the center of the room, hands by his side, lingering in all of his regal splendor. Rivaille can feel his eyes boring holes into his back, but he doesn’t turn to him, and instead remains hunched over his desk.

Rivaille closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. He’s usually more collected than this. He’s mastered the skill of internalizing all turmoil and disturbance. Rivaille forged himself into the cold and heartless warrior that he is by using the fires of Hell itself.

“For centuries I’ve dedicated my life to your cause,” he says, scrunching up the papers underneath his hands. “I’ve served under you without falter, never once questioned your calls or disrespected your authority. You’ve had nothing but my unquestioned loyalty, Erwin. You owe me this much.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

Straightening up, Rivaille turns to face his Devil.

Only the correct question will grant him an answer, none of which start with a why or a what. “How long have you know?”

Erwin regards him for a long moment, every bit of him suspended in an unmoving bubble. He looks well and truly dead, if it weren’t for the occasional blink of his eyes. “Quite some time.”

They are more than nightmares after all. “When did all of this happen?”

Moving across the room, Erwin drums his fingers against the polished surface of Rivaille’s desk. He takes the journal in hand and pages through it, not looking the slightest bit perturbed by the delirious scribbling that had consumed Rivaille just minutes ago. “That I do not know, but it’s as real as you and I.”

Which means that Erwin’s played his part perfectly; they all have. He relied on a theory so farfetched as to include memories of another life to fulfill his master plan, and it’s worked this far. Erwin’s manipulated the board in his favor, but Rivaille is too blind to what his endgame is.

Rivaille will have to guess just how far back this web goes, and maybe there he’ll find some clues as to what this puzzle will reveal.

“Did you predict this happening? That I would remember what I did? That I would come to loathe this limbo more than I already do? I killed him—”

“And what’s it to you?” Erwin says, his voice level. “He’s but a soldier.”

“He’s more than that and you know it.”

“Is he? You can’t learn from a mistake if you don’t remember it, but you’ve survived within the fortifications of your own being,” he says, approaching Rivaille until he’s standing inches away. “Why change now, for some boy you don’t know?”

“He meant something to me.”

“No one’s ever meant anything to you in this life.” Erwin accentuates his words by carding his fingers through Rivaille’s hair. “Don’t throw it all away, not when you’ve come this far.”

Those words are a lie and the both of them know it, but Rivaille is unsettled by them. Earlier this evening, Erwin was stating the exact opposite.

He doesn’t have a chance to point this out, because Erwin is backing him up against the ledge of the desk, hands on his head, and mouth gently overlaying his. Rivaille lets him, but he doesn’t return the kiss, opting to stay stiff between the ledge of the desk biting into his back and the commander pressed to his front.

Any other time, Rivaille would have taking him up on it. He’s sexually frustrated, emotionally drained, and he needs the escape only a pureblood’s pheromone high can give him. Erwin would take control from him, tie him down and make him forget his very name. The anger only fuels his lust.

“Don’t forget your place, Captain. Free will is but an illusion I grant you.” Erwin presses his lips to Rivaille’s neck, and before he can react, the crunch of breaking flesh reaches his ears.

The sensation of Erwin’s fangs in his skin pulls a moan from Rivaille’s mouth, a rush of ecstasy making him weak at the knees. It’s been too long since he’s been bit by anyone, and he’s almost forgotten just how erotic it can feel when done right. Erwin knows how to do it right; with his hands caressing Rivaille’s chest, squeezing his thighs and resting over the swell of his crotch.

Erwin pulls out after a matter of seconds, and draws a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket to dab the excess blood from his mouth. He licks his lips, one slow drag meant to arouse his victim.

Rivaille is wound up for entirely different reasons. “You can’t control me,” he says through the haze that’s settled in his mind. Unlike Eren, Rivaille isn’t immune to the magnetic pull. “If my will fails, my pride won’t allow it.”

Erwin’s chuckle reverberates in Rivaille’s loins. “My darling, I don’t need to draw upon the aura of my vampirism to rob you of your will.”

Not a single word that falls from Erwin’s mouth feels right. The commander is above this kind of talk. He’s a man of eloquent and tactful diplomacy, not petty threats.

Erwin is willingly making himself into the villain, and Rivaille fails to see why, especially when he can see right through it.

It flickers into his awareness once it’s too late, that scent that’s been buried beneath Erwin’s more potent chemicals. 

A slow smile creeps into his handsome features when he sees the flicker of recognition on Rivaille’s face.

Eren is just outside his room, and the realization makes Rivaille’s stomach turn cold. This is a rouse directed at Eren, and Rivaille has unknowingly executed his role to a tee.

“You never did disappoint,” Erwin says, tipping Rivaille’s head upward for yet another kiss. “If you need further service, you know where to find me.”

Rivaille remains leaning against the desk until Erwin’s gone, Eren’s scent wavering slightly before vanishing completely.

In less than twelve hours Eren will have to face a werewolf, and Erwin wants him to get angry. It’s a reckless tactic, but one that is bound to work. Eren is stubborn and his temper is volatile, all he’ll ever need is the simplest push.

The room feels as empty as Rivaille feels jaded.

Despite his lifelong election to ignore it, Rivaille’s been a plaything since the moment Erwin’s teeth first sank into his neck at the age of twenty-seven. Immortalized and alone, Rivaille was left without much choice. Faced with the understanding that he’ll never be truly free, he swore upon his absent mother’s grave to kill Erwin before the war comes to an end.

But the thoughts of hatred and bloodlust don’t fuel the fires of his indignation.

Pulling away the string of his shirt, Rivaille tugs it off in one swift motion, dropping it on the chair closest to his bed. He’s riled up, too shaken to make the right calls – and Eren’s scent is back, lingering just outside his door.

The mixture is intoxicating, one he hasn’t experienced in decades. His abstinence had slowly turned into indifference, and without the influence of a vampire’s heat, the mere thought of another person’s touch disgusts him. Turned vampires are more animals than people, and Rivaille’s grown accustomed to being one. His lust for flesh has long since given way to his lust for blood.

Until now.

Lying on his bed, satin warm and smooth against the skin of his back, Rivaille stretches like the cat he’s often described as.

The sight of Eren’s skin is fresh in his mind, the rolling plains of darker skin showered with barely noticeable freckles. Like the son of a sun god – despite his awkward and clumsy gait. Young and impressionable, with the wide-eyed wonder of a dreamer’s soul, Eren is a fountain he desperately wishes to drink from. He’s the embodiment of life and hope, the personification of freedom.

He’s everything Rivaille is not, and frenziedly desires.

Running a hand down his chest, hyper-aware of Eren’s presence just outside, Rivaille allows himself a brief smile.

He unclasps his pants and teasingly plays with the coarse hairs below his navel, delaying the touch he longs for.

His mind betrays him by giving him images of Erwin, his mouth around him like he’s done countless times before, but Rivaille drives out the thought. He’s seen Eren eat, how messy and how obscenely loud he is, and he imagines him suckling at his cock with the same amount of enthusiasm.

Rivaille shudders.

Practically a man and still untouched, innocent and ripe for the picking. Eren won’t last a minute under Rivaille’s attention, and he finds himself hoping he doesn’t. Rivaille wants to pull at his strings, touch him in places Eren has never dreamed could be touched, make him come when he’s forgotten all but his captain’s name.

But it wouldn’t be over yet, oh no; Eren’s far too young for just one round. Rivaille looks down the barrel of a very long night of ruthless fucking, not stopping until they’ve torn the sheets and broken the bed. Then they’ll simply move to the desk, the wall, the floor – _Erwin’s bed_ , where Rivaille will make Eren come again and again and again.

He pushes his hand inside his pants, cupping his erection and slowly moving his hand.

Rivaille’s darker impulses make him want to draw blood. Werewolf or not, he longs to sink his fangs into the tender skin of Eren’s neck, his chest, the inside of his thigh. He wants to drink him in every way possible, roll in his scent and sport it like a medal for everyone to see.

Squeezing himself, Rivaille sighs with pleasure. He can smell it now, the tinge of arousal in Eren’s blood. He’s watching him get off, and that knowledge urges Rivaille to give him what he wants. He has half a mind to invite him in, finally cross the goddamned line, but not yet.

Rivaille is nowhere near stable. He’s channeling his wrath through sex, morphing the elements of ire, confusion and sorrow into lust for an easier form of relief. They call him complicated, a trait Erwin has confessed to find delectably attractive, but Rivaille likes the think that he’s composed by layers he keeps perfectly in-check. He’ll reveal whichever one he wishes while keeping the other parts of him safe behind the coldness of his eyes.

At his core, Rivaille is but an actor who’s made a life out of each of his roles. The warrior, the executioner, the nobleman, the delinquent, the pawn, the whore. Let them believe whichever one they like most, make them comfortable, and then devour them.

A soft gasp escapes him when he finally wraps a fist around his cock, giving himself a slow and loose tug.

Erwin might be the pureblood known for making the world fall to his feet and beg to suck his dick, but Rivaille is a _god_ amongst his kind. Queens have come knocking on his door for a simple hour, urging kings to hide beneath his bed. He’s fucked the world just as much as the world’s fucked him.

His empire had been nice while it lasted, but then the nightmares of a past life began to punish him, driving him to indulge in cruelty unlike ever before.

A stifled gasp draws him back to the present, and it isn’t his own. He doesn’t give any indication of noticing, but he’s aware that his bedroom door is open a crack. Despite the attempt to keep himself quiet, Eren is being noisy, but Rivaille feels grateful. The tiny whimpers and moans spur him on as he strokes himself, granting him an anchor from the jumble of thoughts and horrors in his head.

He wants those sounds pressed to his ear, feeling hot breath caress his neck as Eren rides him. Rivaille wants to see Eren move serpentine above him, a hand to his mouth to keep himself from screaming. He wants to see blushing cheeks and glossy eyes that can reflect the sun.

For the first time, Rivaille allows himself to want.

Shifting on the bed, he gets on his knees, pushing his pants until they’re resting halfway down his thighs. He basks in the feeling of cool air caressing his cock as it hangs heavily between his legs. Rivaille lets his hands roam his chest, drawing tickles and shivers as he indulges in the touches he enjoys but rarely admits to.

In his mind’s eyes, Eren is before him on the bed, resting in all fours with his perk ass waiting to be abused. The curve of his back is delectable against Rivaille’s dark sheets, and so he does the only thing he can do.

Rivaille fucks his fist, tightening it as any virgin hole would. He bites his bottom lip too late, the pleasured grunt is already out there.

Outside the door, it seems like Eren is no longer bothering with keeping his voice down.

The fantasy shifts when thoughts of Erwin try to barge in again, but Rivaille takes a route that leaves him breathless. The thought of Eren dominating him makes his hips jerk and eyes squeeze shut, and that’s suddenly all that matters.

Rivaille moves again, ready to jump out of his skin when he wants to catch up on a dry spell that’s lasted decades. On his knees, he rests the side of his head against the bed, exposing himself debauchedly. The pants prevent him from opening his legs any further, so this will have to do.

Reaching back, he grabs hold of himself again, slowly stroking to the rhythm of his thrusts. Had he any oil within his reach, he would have teased his opening, but instead he opts to fantasizing. It would probably be a bad idea to let Eren prepare him, since his eagerness might get the best of him, but a part of Rivaille would appreciate the burn.

The thought of being bound and rendered helpless beneath the power of a lycan awakens a feral sense of self-preservation, but it being Eren changes the scene. He has no reason to trust such an unstable creature, but something in him whispers that it’s been done before, that it’s okay. It’s okay to be bound by the wrists, face pressed into the pillows as a warm body presses to his back. It’s all right to get one’s hair pulled, shoulders bitten and hips bruised, to be barked orders at, to be told to say ‘master’.

Rivaille curses, mouth falling open when his hand quickens.

By the door, Eren whines, and Rivaille searches for him in midst of a pleasure hazed mind. He finds his eyes gleaming in the shadows, those big pools of green widening in surprise. Rivaille chuckles around a moan, because to think that the brat thought he was being quiet all this time.

The aborted shout Eren chokes back startles Rivaille, but the look on his face when he orgasms is something to behold. It’s too soon to finish, but he would rather come with that image burned into his mind, and so he quickens his pace.

Rivaille’s body tenses before going slack, mouth open around a silent moan when he releases onto his bed sheets.

He stays there, holding his position while he waits for his breathing to normalize. Just a matter of habit, considering he doesn’t need to breathe at all. He pushes himself onto his back, away from the wet spot, and shuts his eyes.

For all of the buildup and the decadent display, the experience is as underwhelming as it’s always been. Scarred as a human and desensitized since his turning, the joys of the flesh hold little meaning for him. For the longest time it had been a matter of business, a show of rank and class among his kind, but it’s never been about enjoyment, not about his own pleasure. Part of him had hoped that it would be different now, but it’s still as lacking as it’s always been.

Rivaille keeps still until Eren’s presence has slinked away, most likely to wallow in shame.

He eventually needs to move, wash his sheets and himself. Sex really isn’t worth the effort.

However, he does feel calmer, more centered. He’s able to wind himself up once more, carry on with his daily routine. Rivaille is now certain that he’ll be able to face the day without unnecessarily snapping at any of his subordinates.

It’s still a matter of hours before he’s needed at the testing chambers, so he decides to take his time. He’ll prepare tea, dress his bed and himself, and sort through the stack of paperwork Erwin’s left on his desk. As far as he’s concerned, nothing out of the ordinary has transpired, and Eren can deal with whatever he has going on in his mind for himself.

Pushing his body off the bed, Rivaille brings up his pants, and settles into the same indifferent default he feels towards the world around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, the song Levi is playing is [this one right here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1GK1nNi8Hk)


	10. Hostis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler warning for just about everything that happens in the manga. I'm terrible at remembering chapter numbers, I swear.

Another restless sleep comes to an end to the sound of a piano. Eren’s starting to think that Rivaille does this on purpose; rather than coming down into the holding cells, he simply plays throughout Eren’s wakeup call. Melodies are warmer to wake up to, compared to Rivaille’s barks for Eren to get to it. However, unable to lie to himself, he misses waking up to those metallic eyes.

A little disoriented, Eren realizes that it’s still daylight outside. Unsure of how he knows this, he remembers having turned in for a nap before today’s tests begin. Replenishing his energies had been necessary after the little debauchery he had indulged in.

Eren’s cheeks warm at the memory with both embarrassment and, dare he say it, hope. Rivaille had noticed him, yet he failed to seize his actions. He continued revealing himself in such a carnal and sinful fashion that Eren hesitated, thinking he had walked into yet another wet dream. But he hadn’t.

However, that doesn’t mean that Eren had been the slightest bit satisfied. He wasn’t, and still isn’t, because what he did had been done out of anger and misled arousal. The way Erwin had touched Rivaille, the sounds his captain had made were maddening. Blinding hot rage speared through his chest at the sight, rage similar to the kind he felt back at St. Chlorba on his birthday.

He knows it’s wrong, that he should not be feeling these sorts of things for a man placed in his life with the intention to kill him were Eren to lose control.

_He meant something to me._

Despite Eren’s name never being mentioned, something inside of him settled down and accepted it. Rivaille dreams of him. Does this mean that Eren dreams of him in turn? Lately, he does, but there’s no definitive evidence that Rivaille is the silhouette that walks across his bloodier nightmares. Erwin spoke of the nightmares being just as real as the rest of them, but how? The monsters outside these walls are nothing like the monsters in Eren’s head.

Maybe Rivaille’s nightmares are the only ones that have a tangible sense of reality, and not Eren’s. It isn’t possible for them to be.

He wants to know.

Eren wants to know of Rivaille’s nightmares, and what role he plays in them. Do they share the same demons, the same people? Does he feel the blood scorch his skin before it evaporates like it had never been there? Does he feel like a caged animal buried beneath humankind’s expectations and dreams, just like Eren?

So many questions, and they just keep adding themselves in his mind.

He should get up and get dressed, maybe grab something to eat, but he fears they’ll force him to transform again. He’ll be unable to hold anything in his stomach if they do. The fear and utter disgust in his comrades’ faces haunts him. For the first time, the squad truly saw what they’re dealing with, that Eren Jaeger isn’t just a boy with mousy hair and a troubled past. 

He is well and truly a monster.

Eren gets dressed, slipping into a pair of casual pants and a wrinkled shirt. He crawls back into bed, knees to his chest and head over his arms as he listens to the whimsical yet aggressive keys.

And speaking of keys, they never returned to him his key. Irrelevant, he decides, since he doesn’t recall who gave it to him and why.

It isn’t long before the music stops, and shortly after Rivaille is making his way down the steps to Eren’s quarters.

There’s something different in the way he’s dressed, and it takes Eren a moment to realize the peculiar set of belts from the waist down. From his belt around his hips part two of black leather that crisscross over his groin and are attached to two different belts that circle his thighs. Hanging from said belts are sheaths, and Eren can see the swords’ hilts gleam in the weak lighting.

The harness inspires curiosity and appreciation, because, even without his jacket, waistcoat and cravat, Rivaille looks extraordinarily elegant. Maybe it’s the confidence with which he wears it, as if those few belts make him unbeatable. Or it may just be the fact that Eren saw much less on him a few hours earlier.

Either way, he looks far more dangerous than ever before. A dark cloud hangs over his eyes and Eren feels dread dripping into his stomach. Unsure if it’s anger due to being seen in such a compromising and exposed position, or because Eren listened in on a conversation he shouldn’t have, he prefers to not say a peep.

His cell doors slam open, and Rivaille stands there with a candleholder in his left hand.

The silence is heavy, but not awkward. The tension of a dozen things unsaid rests between them, and Eren feels an overwhelming sense of displacement. In just a matter of hours, he’s gone from viewing Rivaille as a - somewhat - complete stranger, to something more. He’s unsure what _more_ entitles, but he’s certain there’s something there, something deep, untouchable and transcendental.

Rivaille knows it as well.

Wordlessly, like having flipped a lever, they are two very different people when compared to the entities that met a little over a month ago. In Eren’s mind, Captain Rivaille of the Reconnaissance Legion is something other than a vampire caught in a complicated web. There’s a depth to him that Eren can feel.

It’s the same as it had been with Armin. The same aching feeling of familiarity he felt with Mikasa.

Pastor Nick always said that there’s only one life to live, that after death comes the afterlife, and that final destination is decided once one’s deeds have been put on the scale. After life comes either Heaven or Hell… _So which one is this?_

Eren has never believed in anything outside of the here and now, but he feels old and tired, wise beyond his years despite doing stupidly childish things and making irrational choices on a day to day basis. He feels like he’s lived a lifetime, even when his lifetime had been spent inside the walls of an asylum.

“You meant something to me, too,” Eren finds himself saying, wishing he could sleep for weeks as he clenches his fists over his knees. “But they’re just dreams, aren’t they?”

Rivaille’s face remains devoid of expression as he quietly considers Eren’s words. He steps inside, eventually, and places the candleholder over Eren’s bedside table.

“When I said that I wanted change, I never meant something as crazy as this,” he continues, thinking back to the countless scenarios he and Armin had created. “I feel like I’ve gone mad, that I deserve to stay locked in St. Chlorba.” Eren chuckles at his own words, and the hollowness in his chest makes his eyes water.

“We rode together, Captain. We fought side by side and we almost won, we almost…” Tears now spill out of Eren’s eyes. “Captain…” He shakes his head. “ _Corporal._ ”

“Shut up,” Rivaille orders; the words are simple and emotionless.

“Your name is wrong,” Eren says, unable to stop crying. He sifts through years of forgotten nightmares for the name he needs, but there’s nothing there. “Sir—”

“I told you,” comes Rivaille’s measured response. “Shut your fucking mouth.” His words are pitched low and even, deadly.

Eren expects to be slapped or worse, but what he doesn’t expect is the way Rivaille’s cold hands card through his hair, holding his head in place as he steps closer. He stands between Eren’s knees and tips his head upward in a surprisingly gentle motion.

Eren can feel his heart skipping beats.

Rivaille kisses him.

Just a barely-there press of lips, cautious and timid as his thumb strokes Eren’s temple.

Time comes to a standstill as Eren cries, wanting to hold onto Rivaille’s mouth forever, but the man pulls away just as soon as he leaned in. Both their eyes are open, and Eren isn’t certain about what that means. He’s never been kissed before, so he hopes Rivaille will forgive his inexperience.

Rivaille still looks unsettled, even through the impassiveness spread across his face. “We’re late,” is the only thing he says, and Eren nods.

They head out of the cell and journey into the deeper parts of the headquarters, to a room that is as high as it is wide.

With zero ventilation, the stench is usually awful when both vampire and werewolf are corralled into the same space together. Erwin is here too, and so the smell of pureblood makes Eren’s head spin. The man hadn’t been here during the last test and that had been a given, but Eren should have known that his luck wouldn’t last. As if being under the watchful eye of his captain isn’t bad enough, now he has his commander to worry about.

Just like last time, Eren is instructed to remove his clothing, and he fears he’ll never shake off the lingering sense of humiliation and self-consciousness. Initially, undressing in front of the women had been the problem, but now Eren can feel Erwin’s eyes scrutinizing him. He hates it.

Erd, Gunther, Aurou, and Petra stand at each corner of the room, swords at the ready. Rivaille stands by Aurou’s side with his hands behind his back. He looks deceptively casual.

Hanji paces around the room, nearly bouncing with excitement, stopping only to poke and prod at Eren and make annotations in her clipboard. She says something about his healing rate, and how St. Chlorba’s physician hadn’t even scratched the surface. The remark makes Eren’s knees weak. He doesn’t want to remember.

Standing inside the protective barrier formed by Levi’s unit is Erwin, smiling pleasantly as he discreetly inspects his surroundings. He, along with Hanji and Levi, are the only ones who don’t look scared half to death.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Eren,” Hanji says, finally tucking her clipboard under her arm and looking directly at him. “We’re going to start by testing your ability to fight a lycan using typical hand-to-hand combat skills.”

Eren’s sure his eyes are about to pop out of his head. “But that’s impossible.” If there’s one thing everyone in the Legion is sure of, is that facing a lycan with one’s bare hands is suicide. That’s why they use horses outside the walls and swords stronger than any weapon ever forged.

“According to reports, when threatened, you successfully managed to subdue a lycanthrope before triggering a transformation,” Erwin says, looking to Erd and Petra for confirmation. They both nod.

Eren doesn’t remember that, but he doesn’t remember much of what happened the night of the incident.

“If you’re unable,” Hanji picks up, “you are being given permission to shift in order for you to restrain the animal.”

“Restrain,” Eren repeats, making sure he’s heard her right.

“Yes, restrain.”

“I thought Eren was meant to slay it,” Erwin says.

“Change of plans. We only have two specimens left and it isn’t for another month until we’ll be able to head back outside the walls. We need to reuse our resources.”

Erwin nods in understanding and finally steps aside.

Eren really wants to know why they think fighting a lycan while naked is a good idea at all.

“His name is Sawney, by the way.” Every head in the room turns towards Hanji. “What? It was purely for cognitive testing,” she says with a pout. 

Nobody believes her.

When the iron doors begin to creak as they open, Rivaille’s voice fills the room in an intimidating boom. “Everybody at the ready.”

Eren changes into the defensive stance Gunther has taught him over these past few weeks. He balls his fists and raises them to the level of his eyes. He separates his feet to balance and better propel himself into action the moment it is required of him.

Heart racing and palms sweating, Eren tries tricking himself into thinking he can do this. He has to prove that he can pull his own weight, prove that the Legion hasn’t made a mistake in recruiting him and that he can serve as more than just a test subject. He won’t be bested by a monster like him.

Everyone’s eyes turn to the creature being led through the doors. A thick metal collar fits snug around its neck, and six equally thick rods protrude from it, each one manned by a solder to keep the creature where they want him – away from everybody’s limbs. It tries to thrash around, shaking itself to throw the soldiers off, but they hold their ground.

The thing is just as horrifying as the lycan Eren faced at the chapel, only this one is smaller. The collar doesn’t prevent it from snapping its snout, wicked teeth clacking so loudly Eren is reminded of slamming doors. Drool drips onto the ground, and one of the soldiers nearly slips, making Eren flinch.

What are worse are its claws. He remembers the ones encrusted in shards of wood as they swiped for him before turning on Armin.

Eren wants to run in the opposite direction, but he won’t. He’ll stand his ground and he’ll fight, even if it kills him.

He watches as one of the poles attached to the collar is slowly rotated, and that single motion allows the collar to fall away. The soldiers retreat immediately, shutting the doors as they leave.

Much to everybody’s surprise, the creature doesn’t move.

Eren is tense all over and he can feel his muscles starting to ache as he holds his stance, but the lycan just stands there, sniffing the air around it and rustling the gray hairs at the end of its gray snout. When it stands on its hind legs, Levi’s squad shifts their position minutely; enough to attack, but not enough to catch the monster’s attention.

It isn’t necessary, because the creature’s attention is solely on Eren.

He holds his breath, the seconds that tick by keeping everything suspended by a thread in a void that makes his stomach float with nervousness.

And then the thread snaps.

Eren doesn’t flinch when the monster releases a sound that’s a mixture of a howl and a human scream. He figures that the damned souls of Hell sound exactly like that.

When the creature charges, Eren tries to make himself smaller and easily dodges out of the way. He sets his weight on his knees and uses it to add momentum to his movement, making him faster, more agile.

Eren dodges each charge, looking for an opening, but he hesitates each time. There’s nowhere to grab. His hands are too small compared the creature dancing about the floor. Hesitation will only slow him down. If he tries to grab hold of it while still in doubt, all he’ll do is grant the monster an opportunity to grab him. So he continues to fling himself about for what feel like hours.

It’s only been a few seconds.

Despite his hearty meals and near constant training, one month just can’t make up for a lifetime of inactivity. Eren’s responses, however heightened, are useless when his stamina is poor. He eventually begins to grow tired, but he pushes on, even after a claw finally manages to swipe his side.

Bleeding profusely, Eren stops his hesitation and begins getting angry. He’s angry that he’s been thrown into this, that every stage of his life is an extreme he doesn’t have the ability or equipment to deal with. He’s angry that he can’t do this, that he can’t take down an animal like the soldier he’s meant to be.

But the anger only blinds him, and he’s knocked off his feet before he can register it. On his back, he blinks stars from his eyes as he hears the lycan charge for him again. Its footfalls are a tempo that reverberates through the floor in beats of four, and the snapping of its jaw is nearly rhythmic in its need to devour.

Eren needs to move. Roll out of the way, preferably jump to his feet, but he can’t. His side is burning and pounding so wickedly he could cry, but now isn’t the time to show weakness.

The monster is nearly on top of him, and Eren’s pissed that no one’s intervened by this point.

Driven by the need to survive, Eren shoves himself between the creature’s feet, making it stumble and fall, but not before a claw catches itself on Eren’s previously injured leg.

Eren has a second to catch his breath, to reel in the pain and panic that leave him numb despite his heightened state. 

At the far corner of the room, Rivaille has his weapons drawn, ready to intervene. Eren is about to ask why he hasn’t stopped this, why he hasn’t executed his authority as captain, but then he sees it: Erwin’s hand resting on Rivaille’s shoulder. He’s by no means holding him back, but Eren suddenly understands the authority behind the commander’s charismatic façade. Erwin doesn’t have to use force for others to bend to his will.

White hot fury blinds Eren.

Not exactly aware of how he’s managed it, and not quite caring, Eren pushes himself up on both his feet. He will not cower. He will not give up. He will not be a pawn.

He’s brought giants to their knees before. What’s one mangy mutt?

The sound that rips out of Eren’s mouth isn’t human as he reaches out a hand, but he doesn’t use it to grab the lycanthrope. Instead, he holds it up to his mouth, and bites down on it.

The inferno that surges underneath Eren’s skin is the same as always, just as agonizing and overwhelming, but it’s easier to bear it now. The pain only serves to fuel his wrath anyway.

He still can’t explain how it feels, transitioning from human to werewolf, but it isn’t necessary. All that matters is that he can do it, and that he can wield this as his weapon. He’s no longer looking up at the creature, but down at it. Eren’s bigger. Colors are duller but he can focus on what’s in front of his eyes. His attention is sharper, and he’s strangely lucid. He’s in charge of this form, he can control it, and so he does.

Eren charges the monster with mouth wide open, teeth snapping at random, hoping to catch whatever he can. He can’t do this. He has to be astute, specific, he needs a goal. He hones in on wanting to rip out the back of its throat, because that’s what he’s been taught at the academy. A lycan’s weakness is its nape, disabling its regenerative abilities.

His limbs are clumsy, however. It feels like, unlike his opponent, Eren doesn’t have arms. Limbs, yes, but not arms. He has no hands to grab with, and that enrages him all the more. Eren uses whatever he has to pin down the creature, turn it over, but once it’s on its back, it uses its hind legs to throw Eren off him.

He lands a good ways across the room, banging his head against a stone wall. Eren gets up, shaking his head when it begins to throb. Without wasting a second, he lunges towards the animal again, lifting himself up and slamming the entirety of his body against it. For a brief moment it works, but through the maddening heat enveloping Eren’s mind, there’s an unsettling rush of cold.

Someone is saying something, someone is yelling – orders, someone is giving orders and he should listen to what it is they’re saying, but the monster throws Eren off him again. It’s faster, much to Eren’s surprise, because the beast catches him while he’s still in the air and slams him down with so much force Eren finds himself yelling out in pain.

More cold, more pain, and after a few dazed moments, Eren realizes that he’s being bit over and over again. That thing is tearing strips of flesh from his form, and all Eren can do is cry out.

But then, the monster is tugged off of him.

Eren expects to see the entire squad reigning it in, but he doesn’t. All he sees is a single shape who kicks the legs out from under the creature, sending it crashing to the ground. Rivaille moves so fast it’s hard for Eren to keep up, watching him as he disables its arms by delivering deep gashes into their joints, rendering them useless. He does the same to the legs, and then the throat, and Eren stares as the man climbs onto the lycanthrope’s body, a sword in each hand. It’s hard to see from his angle on the floor, but Eren is sure that Rivaille’s standing over the creature’s nose when he drives his swords into its eyes, making the thing jerk and snap its jaw.

Eren is certain Rivaille says something, but he can’t hear anything. He’s talking to it, and although his face is just as expressionless, his eyes are something to behold. They haven’t changed, but a look of absolutely manic hatred manifests itself in them.

Fear is something Eren has become accustomed to by now, has forced himself to cope with. But he’s never feared Rivaille like this. Those eyes are frosty, vacant and lifeless, devoid of the humanity he claims to remember. In that moment, Eren finds himself questioning who the real monster in this show is.

Lastly, with inhuman grace, Rivaille hops down and uses his foot to hold the creature’s head to the side. In one slow movement, he cuts out its nape as if he were playing a violin. The lycan finally stops its fidgeting. Dead.

The room is quiet for the exception of Eren’s labored breathing.

Rivaille turns to Eren then, and all he can do is whine in horror. He’s still grasping his swords as he stalks over, the look still in his eyes as he sneers.

Eren flinches, trying to get away but his body feels mangled, torn between hot and cold. If Rivaille intends on killing him, he won’t be able to put up a fight. He hasn’t been intending to, though. A deal is a deal. But Eren hadn’t lost control, he’s still perfectly conscious. Are they that terrified of him? Is he that dangerous, even while in control of his functions?

Closing his eyes, Eren waits for it, but the sting of a blade never comes. Cold hands touch his face, forcing him to open them again.

He sees Rivaille’s face a matter of inches away from him, and the ferocious look hasn’t shifted all that much. It’s a stark contradiction to the gentleness of his hands.

Eren watches him turn to Hanji, say something he can’t hear, and Hanji nods, drifting out of his line of sight. Behind Rivaille is his squad, all of them wide-eyed and shaken, but their mouths are pressed into a thin line that warns of a threat. Their weapons are still at the ready.

They lower them, however, when Erwin approaches Eren.

Eren tries scooting away again, but Rivaille shakes his head.

Erwin is speaking, and whatever he’s saying is being directed at Eren, but he can’t hear a thing. His hand joins Rivaille’s, but while one touch is a gentle stroke, Erwin’s is a playful scratching, as if Eren were some oversized dog who likes being scratched behind the ear. It’s unsettling, and it makes Eren ill.

When Hanji walks into view again, she’s holding a needle, but Eren has no fight in him to complain.

❖

“And how are we feeling?” Hanji asks, startling Eren from the drowsy state he’s been in for heaven knows how long. She has a hand to his forehead, searching for signs of a fever that carries on.

Eren tries to talk, but his tongue is numb and his body feels heavy, so he just hums a note he hopes translates to something along the lines of ‘like crap’.

Focusing his eyes, he realizes that he’s back in his room. There are more lanterns and candles than ever, and the place feels crowded before he’s given the chance to look around him. There’s a steady murmur, but it’s a light one.

“Glad to finally have you with us,” Erwin says, patting Eren’s leg.

Eren flinches but doesn’t move away. He really doesn’t want to be touched right now, not by anyone, but he figures it’s alright for Hanji to do so. She’s only making sure he’s in one piece.

“You’re mostly regenerated,” she says, lifting a limp arm. Eren doesn’t feel it at all. “Mostly being the key word here.”

He tries wagging his toes, but only succeeds in moving the ones on his left foot. His back aches something atrocious, and half of his face feels like it’s on fire. But he’s alive. He survived. He’s not sure if he’s okay with that, yet.

“It’s best if you stay put for several more days,” Erwin says. “That was some show you put on, Eren. I’m impressed.”

Eren tries talking again, but by now he’s sure his vocal cords were somehow crushed during the brawl. The thought terrifies him.

“That’s quite something, coming from Erwin.” Eren starts again at the sound of Rivaille’s voice, and tries his best to scoot deeper into the bed on instinct.

Hanji frowns down at him, lightly shaking her head. “You’ll reopen your wounds.”

Eren isn’t hearing it. With each step Rivaille takes into the room, Eren shrinks back, nearly falling off the bed if Hanji wouldn’t have grabbed the sheets and gently rolled him back. He remembers the look. He remembers the speed and the efficiency and the inhuman stare. Eren remembers the detached cruelty.

When Erwin’s hand begins to stroke Eren’s leg, Eren casts him a glare, uncaring that it’s disrespectful. He wants nothing to do with vampires or any of their preternatural abilities.

With an understanding nod, Erwin pulls his hand away.

Rivaille drops the tray he’s carrying onto Eren’s table, making the silverware clatter and the china chink. He has the same cold look in his eyes, but it isn’t directed at Eren.

“I think you’ve frightened him,” Hanji says, her words serious despite the playful lilt in them.

“Good,” Rivaille says, fixing Eren with a glare that makes him want to disappear. “He needed to see why the court placed him in my charge.” His words are frigid, and Eren pulls the sheets closer to him with the only hand he can move.

Eren tries to control his breathing, attempting to keep it even but knowing that he’s failing. He won’t cry. He absolutely refuses. He isn’t a child anymore.

Hanji isn’t touching him anymore, and neither is she scribbling on her notepad. Erwin’s presence is like a roaring fire inside an icy room, but he too stays quiet. The silence is suffocating and Eren wants nothing to do with anyone.

“Give us a moment,” Rivaille says, and Eren instantly pulls the bed sheets down, giving Hanji a desperate look that asks for her not to leave.

Nobody moves for a moment, but then Erwin gets to his feet and places a hand over Hanji’s shoulder. She nods silently and turns to give Eren the most apologetic look she can muster, which is more gleeful than he had hoped.

The two of them leave, leaving Eren and Rivaille alone.

Holding back tears becomes nearly impossible.

“It would have killed you,” Rivaille says, his eyes on the tray he’s brought in. The smell of a stew tickles Eren’s nose. “Hanji and I are looking for a less drastic way to disable a lycan.”

Eren’s eyes are on Rivaille. He’s unsure of what he’ll do if Rivaille decides to strike him down now that he’s defenseless.

“Can you sit up?”

Eren doesn’t give the slightest sign of acknowledgement.

“Don’t be a fucking brat. You haven’t eaten in three days and I’m trying to be a decent goddamn person here, you piece of shit.” Rivaille’s eyes narrow. “Either sit the fuck up so I can feed you or I’ll make you lap at it like the repulsive dog you are.”

Instead of flinching, Eren glares right back, and flips him off.

“I’ll rip off your skin and use it as a carpet.”

Eren shrugs.

If anything, he can blame his deplorable behavior on the fever. He’s more angry than scared, and nature tells him to be defiant rather than cowardly. Another part of nature tells him that he has a death wish for disrespecting Rivaille.

He stalks over to the bed and looms over Eren menacingly. “Can you or can’t you sit your scrawny ass up?”

Shutting his eyes, Eren takes deep and even breaths before finally shaking his head. He hears the sound of shuffling, the scrape of a chair and the rattle of silverware. When he opens his eyes, he finds Rivaille rolling up his sleeves.

Eren tenses when he leans over, and the captain immediately stops what he’s doing. His expression may be unchanged, but there’s something different in his eyes.

“May I touch you?”

The question confuses Eren, and his mind scavenges about the gutter for a few seconds before he realizes what it is that Rivaille means. He wants to say no, to crawl away, but Rivaille _asked_. It’s a gesture so human that Eren wants to sob for completely different reasons.

He nods his head.

As gently as possible, Rivaille peels back the sheets and takes Eren by his underarms, hoisting him up and propping him against the backboard. Rivaille slips some pillows to make him comfortable. In that brief moment, Eren can assess the damage done to him.

Both his legs are wrapped in bandages, and the ones on the right is bright red with fresh blood. There are stitches along his stomach. If it’s been three days and he still has this much left to heal, Eren doesn’t even want to think about how bad the initial wounds were.

Rivaille is staring blankly at the patch of blood on the bandages, and Eren stares at him instead. This man had seemed far less ruthless than the version in his nightmares, but after seeing the way he brought down that lycan, Eren has his doubts. Neither of them are human, they are both monsters, but Rivaille is the predator. He’s more than capable of putting Eren down.

“I’ll have Hanji tend to those later,” Rivaille says, fixing his attention to the tray on the table. He takes the bowl of stew and angles himself towards Eren. “You better not make a mess.”

Eren says nothing, only watches Rivaille intently.

He’s not a patient man, but he tries to be. He huffs when Eren takes too long to swallow and glares at him whenever Eren winces. But he trudges through it, feeding Eren until his stew is completely gone, for the exception of the vegetables Eren is unsure he can swallow just yet.

Much to Eren’s mortification, once he’s done, Rivaille dabs a handkerchief to Eren’s mouth with the same permanent blank look.

Eren blinks, and then laughs so hard he fears he’ll open every single stitch on his body. It’s soundless, so really all he’s doing is gusting out air as he doubles over.

Rivaille doesn’t look surprised, but his eyes widen a fragment of an inch as his shoulders drop just enough to be noticeable. The shifts are barely there, but Eren picks them up through the one eye that isn’t tearing up.

The air smells of relief.

“Next time, I’ll leave you looking like a pig, if that’s what you want,” Rivaille says, but there’s no real venom in his voice. At least, not more than usual.

Eren eventually calms himself when his back sends sickening jolts of pain along the rest of his body, and so he leans back against his pillows. The stew settles nicely in his stomach, despite the tension wound in his muscles.

Sitting here, with Rivaille considering him in silence, Eren wants to ask about his nightmares. He has an entire repertoire of questions stored in his mind, and he hates that now is the perfect moment to ask, but his voice fails him.

Instead, they sit in silence for a long time.

“We’ll find a way to bring you under control without having to kill you,” Rivaille eventually says. “Won’t do to eradicate humankind’s last hope before he’s given the chance to prove himself.”

Fears momentarily assuaged, Eren nods in order to express his gratitude.

❖

Two days pass before Eren is allowed to stand on his own two feet once more.

During that time, Armin had been allowed to stop by, mostly because he used class as an excuse in exchange for clearance. It hadn’t been entirely a lie, because he had been kind enough to fill Eren in on what he’d missed, but mostly they sat in silence.

They discuss Eren’s nightmares in vivid detail, as well as what Eren had heard and seen that night in Rivaille’s private quarters. He makes sure to not mention the captain’s indecent exposure.

Armin listened with rapt fascination, ready to weave theories and connect facts if it hadn’t been for Erwin’s interruption.

Now, Eren’s left to wander along the hallways of the mansion. 

Despite the artificial darkness created by the thick curtains, it’s midday just on the other side of the walls. Eren marvels at how well he’s become acclimated to a nocturnal schedule, even if he occasionally suffers from sleepless mornings.

The sound of a piano lures him to the music room, where he finds Rivaille stroking away to a light tune. Bored of the endless silence during the past week, Eren leans against the door and listens.

The song has been an endless repetition since Eren heard the first few keys once leaving his cell, as if Rivaille were warming up, or didn’t know the rest of the piece. But now, the tune shifts into something softer. In Eren’s mind, he can feel the day’s warm air on his skin, and smell the rich scent of the flowers in the estate’s garden.

Dregs of peace and hope amidst a doomed and bloody crusade. The composition sounds like the first burst of sunlight after a stormy week, and a mother steps outside to bask in it, her child held safely in her arms.

Eren hears the promise of a gentler and softer world.

Before he realizes it, he’s humming along.

Rivaille scoots to the side without even acknowledging Eren’s presence, his fingers not stopping as he weaves on. 

Taking up the unspoken invitation, Eren steps inside the room, and sits next to him on the bench.

He watches those fingers dance across the keys with surprising ease before they pause, only for a moment, to then carry on. The song slowly begins to shift. It crescendos to a sound similar to that of joy, before it lowers, taking a turn for something far more sinister.

Enraptured, all Eren can do is listen.

The story Rivaille creates through his music is vivid.

People, filled with bright hope, fight a losing battle, but it doesn’t crush their spirits. They push on against all odds, ready to charge into the heat of war. The song speaks of fallen brothers and sisters, forsaken dreams and shattered light. Caged birds desperate for freedom, fearful of dying like crushed flowers.

Rivaille’s hands move with aggressive grace, pushing the song into creating darker images of blood-soaked valleys and devastating loss. All the while, he never forsakes the tidbits of a lullaby that seem to interweave with this macabre rendition of a tale of heroes.

Eren knows this song, he just fails to recall from where. He can feel its vibration in his bones, stirring an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, anger, and indignation.

He wants the song to stop, and it does.

Rivaille ends it abruptly, with his palms slamming down on the keys and causing a discordant noise. For all the stoic blankness on his face, Eren can feel the grief that rolls off of him. He doesn’t say a word, hands still splayed over the piano as he stares into space.

“Was this in your dreams as well?” Eren says, looking down at Rivaille’s hands.

A spoken answer never arrives, but out of the corner of his eye, Eren can see him nod.

“None of this can really be real, can it? Those things…” Eren swallows around the knot in his throat. “Jean tells me that Marco died, that… that…” Hand over his mouth, he tries to control his labored breathing. “I saw Marco just last week,” he gasps out with a panicked laugh.

“Commander Smith loses an arm, Annie betrays me – betrays _us_. Mikasa is… She’s my… A-And Armin—” The sentence dies away with a pathetic whine, unsure of how to continue it. “And—and you, sir, you told me to – you… you…”

“Eren,” Rivaille says, interrupting the frenzied tirade. “Calm down.”

“If they’re just dreams, nightmares, how do you know them? How does Commander Smith know them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please, sir.”

“What do you want for me to tell you?” he says, fixing Eren with an eerily troubled stare. “It is what it is, and until we discover what it is, we are just going to have to cope.”

Eren lapses into silence, twiddling his thumbs together for the sake of something to do. He tries his best to fight back the edges of panic, but appears to be failing.

“You ought to get to bed,” Rivaille says, pushing up from the bench. “You’ve got class tonight.”

Eren doesn’t watch him go, but before he leaves, he decides to speak up. “Who am I to you?” Rivaille still has no definitive role in Eren’s life aside from that of a guardian. His dreams may dictate one thing, but in the here and now, things are vastly different.

Without having to watch him, Eren feels Rivaille’s presence linger behind him, before heading off into the mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Rivaille is playing during the end of this chapter is this one right over [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1GK6e52iss). ~


	11. Studium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! No Rick Rolls for April Fools here. At least not in this fic, hehehe. Anyways, I really like this chapter and I hope you will too! 
> 
> As usual, thanks to everybody who has dropped reviews/kudos/bookmarks. ~ I'm way behind on getting back to everyone, but that's mostly because everyone's theories are superb and I really don't want to ruin what's to come for anyone. That, and I'm also terrible when it comes to being complimented. Heh.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, folks!

The history of Eren’s education is not, by any means, extensive. Aside from being fed nothing but lies throughout his years at St. Chlorba, he does, however, excel in whatever he sets his mind to. His grades may not be valedictorian worthy, but he’s far from being the worst in his class. The same goes for physical training, and whatever else Hanji demands of him.

Dancing, on the other hand, is something Eren has never thought he’d be expected to learn.

“I refuse,” he states simply, crossing his arms petulantly when their instructor stands in front of him.

“Herr Jaeger, I fear that not dancing is not an option if you wish to pass.”

Eren stares at the old woman, careful to not be disrespectful despite his already sour mood. “Why do I have to dance with _Kirchstein?_ ” Certain that this is some kind of sick joke fabricated to get on his nerves, Eren will not dance until he is assigned a new partner.

“Unless a chair seems like an appealing partner, I believe you have no other choice. Everyone else is already set up.”

Mikasa and Annie have been paired up, as well as Marco and Armin, Ymir and Historia, and Reiner and Berthold. The hall is only big enough to host five couples without running the risk of bumping into each other, so the rest of the 104th stand on the sidelines, all of them grinning at Eren’s dilemma.

“Honestly, madam, I’d much prefer it,” Jean says, hands on his hips. “A chair has more charisma than Herr Jaeger.” Those last words hold a sarcastic bite, but the woman doesn’t reprimand him for it. Was it Eren, she’d be chasing him with her walking stick.

“At the Yuletide Ball you will be invited to dance by a multitude of unfavorable characters, and the correct thing to do is get on with it. Keep it short but enticing, casual but personal.” The woman taps her stick, and the band at the corner of the room stops its tuning.

“As future soldiers, you’ll be seen as the king’s most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes,” she continues. “I can assure you there is nothing romantic regarding today’s lesson. View it as an exercise of trust, if you will.”

Jean frowns at Eren before casting a pout in Marco’s direction, but he’s too busy talking to Armin to notice. Each of the pairs are wrapped up in their own little bubble when the music begins to play; a whimsical waltz that fills the hall with excited jitters.

Apparently, the Yuletide Ball is an event that is looked forward to all year round. Gunther had mentioned it in passing earlier this week, but Eren had made nothing of it when no one else spoke of it.

As if forced social interaction isn’t bad enough, Eren is going to be thrown into a den of polished vipers for an entire evening. The Legion will be serving as guards, he’s been informed, and he hopes so. He would much rather stand at a door and keep a look out for any kind of threat than dance with strangers.

For now, he has to survive the days leading up to the ball.

“Might as well get this over with.” Jean’s voice sounds far too close for comfort, and it’s too late to pull away when Eren notices that he’s grabbed him by the arm. “Step on my shoes and you’re dead meat.”

Eren sneers, but otherwise tries his best to be civil when he’s dragged into the fray of dancing pairs. Everyone manages to keep their footwork in check, although clumsily. When it’s Eren and Jean’s turn to join them, things get complicated.

“ _I’m_ leading,” Eren snaps, his hand already going for Jean’s back before it’s slapped away.

“In your dreams, jerk. Now stop freaking squirming.” Jean tugs Eren close enough to press their chests together.

Eren ends up placing his hands on Jean’s shoulder, but mostly out of shock. Their right hands are clasped together inelegantly, and Jean gives it a squeeze when he pulls Eren into a stiff turn when the music tells them to.

Aside from the music, friendly chatter fills the room as both the dancers and the spectators talk among themselves about everything and nothing. The girls mostly talk about what they will be wearing for the ball, while the boys talk about how they are going to smuggle alcohol in and out of the ballroom.

Jean, too, is saying something, but Eren isn’t listening. His hands are sweaty and his forehead is clammy. Anxiety twists and thrashes in his gut and _he doesn’t like being touched._ The only people who ever do are back at the Smith Estate, and Armin is giggling as Marco dips him out of tune.

To Eren, Jean is a threat, even when he’s not trying to be. He tries telling himself that Jean is just an ass who likes getting a rise out of him, that he’s actually a nice guy when he wants to be, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a history of verbal violence between them. They’re still virtually strangers, and Eren doesn’t like being touched by strangers.

Not fully in control of his actions, Eren shoves Jean hard enough to knock him off his feet.

He goes down with a crash, taking Berthold with him.

The music stops with a screech and the class holds a collective breath, stunned by the sudden outburst. They shouldn’t be, since it’s far from being the first time he and Jean have gotten physical.

“What’s your goddamned _problem?_ ” Jean says, getting to his feet. He looks more confused than angry.

Eren stands stock still with his hands fisted on his side. His problems are too many to sound off. He opens his mouth to answer with something, anything, but a cane hits the back of leg.

“What is the meaning of this?” the instructor says, her gaunt face stormy. “I could have you expelled for this, young man. Do not think you’re untouchable just because you have got those wings on your jacket.”

Eren still doesn’t move. He fears what he might do.

“Eren,” he hears Mikasa say, slowly approaching him with outstretched hands. Despite the worried look on her face, Eren flinches away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jean drawls, dusting off imaginary dirt from his clothing. “Prime example as to why you shouldn’t throw in a dog with people.”

Like lighting a flame, Eren goes off.

He lunges for Jean, fist ready to collide with his face, but Jean is quicker. He manages to duck out of the blow just in time.

Stumbling, Eren only gets angrier.

There are hands trying to hold him back, but Eren isn’t having it. He can’t even tell who is who when absolute rage pulses right under his skin.

He didn’t choose to be a dog, he didn’t choose to be thrown in with people, and Jean has no right to ridicule him for it.

“Let me go!” he growls out, trying to wrestle himself free of the hands holding him back.

“Get out of here,” Marco tells Jean, pushing him towards the door. He says something else, but the blood rushing in Eren’s hears prevents him from hearing.

He fights harder against the hold when he sees Jean disappear through the door, Marco and Armin following close behind. Next to his ear, Mikasa is urging him to calm down, asking what’s gotten into him. Behind him, their instructor is shouting something unintelligible.

With strength born from anger, Eren manages to rip himself free.

He’ll leave if he has to; head back to headquarters and call it a night. Wound up this way, any little thing can and will set him off, and Eren is hopeless to control it. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody, not seriously. But he did want to hurt Jean, which is a thought that scares him to hell and back.

Eren needs to get out, to breathe and be alone for a while.

Stalking through the academy halls, he’s aware of the students following close behind; he can hear the pronounced beat of the instructor’s heels against the marble floor. He doesn’t stop. He pushes the front doors open, welcoming the night chill against his feverish skin.

But Jean is there, staring up at him from the foot of the steps. Marco is pulling at his arm, telling him to walk away, and Armin is doing the same, but Jean pushes them aside and faces Eren head-on.

“I haven’t done shit to you,” he says, pointing at Eren.

Eren is ready to take those steps, walk away before the situation gets out of hand, but the instructor hauls him back by the arm. He jerks away, turning to her with too-wide eyes. “Don’t touch me again.”

“Respect your elders,” Jean says, finally moving up the stairs.

“Keep away from me,” Eren warns, a hand out in front of him. “Just… stay away.”

“Or what, huh? What are you going to do, Jaeger? Hit me?”

“Jean, don’t,” Mikasa says, ready to pull him away if he gets too close.

Aggravated, Jean flinches away, and for a hint of a moment it looks like he was about to hit her. It’s an irrational thought because Jean wouldn’t stoop as low, and Mikasa needs no one to protect her, but Eren can feel his wrath peak once more.

He flings another punch, and this time it collides with Jean’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. He would have fallen if not for Marco grabbing him from behind.

The situation blends into a mess of too-intense feelings and pain, because before he can make sense of what is going on, Eren’s hair is being pulled, his cheek pummeled with so much force he can feel teeth coming loose. He’s on the floor and Jean’s on top of him, hitting him with so much strength Eren can see lights burst in front of his eyes.

Eren pushes him off, pinning him to the ground despite the shouting going on around him, but before a single blow can land, he’s being pulled off Jean with surprising ease.

Thrown onto the ground, Eren rounds on whoever manhandled him, but who he sees makes him freeze mid-breath.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rivaille says, his voice deceptively calm. He’s looking down at Eren impassively.

Shifting onto his knees, Eren opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Anger dims into a light simmer when a familiar hum wedges around his mind. He doesn’t feel like killing anyone any more, but he does feel like dying.

In the dead silence of the night, Rivaille turns his head to Armin. “Well?”

Armin straightens up, but the gesture doesn’t keep him from nervously twirling his thumbs. He’s about to speak up when the instructor interrupts him.

“This young man is being uncooperative,” she says, lifting her nose in Eren’s direction. “His lack of respect towards authority is appalling.”

Rivaille stares at her for a moment. “And you are?”

“His Etiquette instructor.”

“Frau Eichel,” Rivaille says with a court nod.

The woman narrows her eyes. “Yes. And you are?”

“Captain Rivaille of the Reconnaissance Legion,” Reiner calls out, sounding more awed than he should.

This causes a ripple of murmurs.

“Eren has been under my care for months,” he says, and maybe Eren’s imagining it, but the look in his eyes is lethal. “And never once has he given trouble where authority is concerned.”

The instructor brings the shawl over her shoulders closer to her chest. “In that case, it seems that Herr Jaeger isn’t fond of elderly women.” The flirtatious tone of her voice makes Eren feel sick.

“Arlert,” he says, pointedly ignoring the woman. “What happened?”

“Today we began rehearsing—” the woman shuts up when Rivaille turns to her with a look of pure contempt written on his face. She looks gobsmacked, hand over her chest. “I can see where he gets it from.”

“Eren repeatedly expressed his refusal to dance, sir,” Armin says. “He reluctantly agreed to do so when informed that half his grade relied on it. He got paired up with Jean, and neither of them was happy about it.”

Jean, who is now standing next to Marco with a split lip, nods. “He hit first,” Jean says.

Rivaille doesn’t bother asking Eren if it’s the truth, he doesn’t need to do so. Everyone knows how quick Eren is to resort to violence.

“He kept insisting that he didn’t want anyone to touch him,” the instructor says, waving her cane around. “If anyone should be repulsed about touching, it should be anyone who has ever come in contact with him.”

Normally, Eren would have flinched, but he’s too tired and strained to feel bad about the jab. Besides, her insults are becoming less creative.

“Get up,” Rivaille says, and Eren fumbles to do so. “Apologize.”

Eren looks at him, genuinely hurt. Of all people, Rivaille knows how badly this woman treats him. He knows better than to expect sympathy from the captain, but a part of him still hopes to see a human side of him.

The instructor is smiling, and it’s a small and coy thing that hides the taint of smugness.

“I’m sorry, madam,” Eren says, the words sour on his tongue. He’ll never hear the end of it. If anything, he can already sense Rivaille’s name being used against him during his lessons.

“Of course, child,” she says, the fake humbleness making Eren twitch.

“Water under the bridge,” Rivaille says, but something about it sounds off. “Why not shake on it?” 

Who knew the captain had a sense of humor.

Eren swallows a smirk when the woman balks at him, but Rivaille only stares back, bored half to death.

Absolutely insulted, the instructor reluctantly holds out her hand.

Eren takes it, squeezes it, and places his other hand over hers before finally shaking it for a matter of seconds.

All around them, the students of the 104th are snickering under their breath.

“You have my word that Eren will never misbehave during your class again,” Rivaille says, swiftly turning on his heels. “Have a good evening.”

The instructor is flexing the hand Eren shook, trying hard not to be rude and wiping it clean on her shawl.

Eren stands there, unsure of what to do, but then Armin approaches him. “Head back. I’ll take your stuff once class is over,” he says, offering a smile.

“Thanks,” Eren mumbles, giving Mikasa a nod before turning around and following Rivaille.

He catches up with him eventually, and Eren wonders how someone so short can walk so fast. He stays a step behind him, nervous at the tirade he knows is going to be unleashed at any given moment. Eren isn’t supposed to bring attention to himself, and he’s failed miserably.

The night is cold, the beginning of winter making itself known as it settles in Eren’s bones, making his teeth chatter.

In front of him, Rivaille removes his cloak and turns, shoving it towards Eren.

“But, sir…”

“I don’t need it.” True, considering he’s undead. Technically speaking.

Eren throws it over his shoulders, and tries to do it with the same flourish Rivaille does, but it only ends up tangling and landing askew. He hurriedly adjusts it, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Brat,” he says, and that’s definitely fondness Eren hears.

The velvet is deliciously warm and smells of flowers.

“You are never to step foot in that woman’s class again,” Rivaille says, giving no room for protest.

As much as Eren loves the idea of never seeing her face again, he fears for his grade. “How will I pass?”

“I’ll have something arranged. You’ll take your final exam, but nothing that requires physical contact.”

The reprimand never comes.

They walk in silence the rest of the way, Eren clinging to the cloak, head reeling from leftover anger. He shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was wrong. But he couldn’t really help it. He felt powerless to stop the swelling rage, too weak to control himself, and the thought is a terrifying one.

This is the reason why Rivaille is in charge of him. Eren truly does need someone to subdue him. Losing control has always been a probability in his mind, but now it is a tangible thing he needs to be mindful of. It’s possible. It can happen. And when it does, it’s Rivaille’s duty to kill him.

Once they arrive at the estate, rather than heading down to the common room, Rivaille leads them to the garden. Past the mazes and fountains, past the pagoda, he chooses a wrought-iron bench that rests against a willow. He has to push the curtain of moss aside for them to reach it.

It’s a little darker here, the moonlight only spilling in when a breeze is strong enough to rustle the branches.

It’s private, and it would be a lie if Eren denied his heart racing at the realization.

Rivaille sits down, and Eren follows suit, keeping a fair distance between them.

“Several weeks ago,” Eren finds himself saying when he remembers. “You threatened to kill me if I got into a fight.” He smiles despite himself. It had been the morning after his arrival, and Eren had just been given his uniform.

“I remember saying that I’d skin you,” Rivaille says, staring off at nothing in particular. “You can heal from that.”

Eren can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble, sir.” When he doesn’t get a reply, he continues. “I really did try to control myself, but, I guess… I guess I lost control.” Still, he gets no reaction from Rivaille. Eren sighs. “Whenever I was touched, it was either to tie me down or inject me with experimental serum. I don’t really mind if I know the person, but—”

“I don’t want an excuse,” Rivaille says. “Just don’t do it again.”

Staring at him, Eren nods. “It wasn’t intended as an excuse. I just wanted you to understand.”

“You were triggered.”

“Yes, I was,” Eren says, annoyance coming back with Rivaille’s detachment. One moment they’re sharing gentle moments at the piano, and another the man is the same cold statue he was during their first meeting. “And I would like to talk about it.”

“Take it up with Hanji. She would be interested.”

“You’re—” Eren stops before he can finish that sentence. He needs to control himself.

Rivaille finally looks at him, the stare over his eyes daring Eren to finish what he was about to say.

“Do I irritate you?” Rivaille asks, extending an arm and resting it over the bench’s backrest. “Does my detachment bother you?”

_Yes_ , Eren wants to say, but already knows where he is trying to get at. He looks away to glare at a patch of moss in particular .

“I’m not your friend.” Rivaille makes sure that the words are loud and clear. “I am not your lover. You are my ward, a potential enemy for me to slay.”

Sharp and cruel words waver in their meaning when Rivaille’s fingers begin to curl a lock of Eren’s hair. His skin crawls with gooseflesh, and Eren is unsure of how to approach the situation. There are countless dreams, perhaps memories of another life between them. A life that proves that, yes, they were once in fact lovers, though not in the most common of fashions.

Eren is tired of the mixed signals, but a part of him assumes that Rivaille needs to hold up that confusion, or else risk becoming too comfortable within each other’s presence. Contentment is dangerous, after all.

“If titles truly bother you so much,” Eren braves, looking at Rivaille out of the corner of his eye. “Let’s not name it.”

Perhaps Eren will earn himself due punishment for the remark, but the surprised look on Rivaille’s face is worth it. Slanted eyes widen a tiny bit, mouth folding downward into a stunned frown. It’s not a huge difference from his usual apathy, but the shift is enough to be noticeable.

“You cannot possibly be turned on by the prospect of me killing you,” Rivaille says, deadpan.

Eren groans. “That’s not it. More like, maybe, it could be something… informal, perhaps? Casual?”

“Are you propositioning me?”

Mortification makes Eren look away again, his cheeks and ears hot. “Forget I mentioned it, sir. Please.” He is certain his face might as well melt off, unable to believe what he just did. Eren is certain he read the situation wrong.

Rivaille’s fingers tug at his hair, hailing his attention. “I can name at least a dozen reasons why we shouldn’t.”

“Captain, I said to forget it.”

“It wouldn’t do to have you transform if I were to bite the inside of your thigh.”

“Sir!”

“You’re too loud. You’d most likely awaken the entire estate if I take you to bed.”

“For all that is holy,” Eren whispers, face hidden in his hands. He’s being teased; the lilt in Rivaille’s monotone voice speaks volumes of how much the man is enjoying Eren’s discomfort.

Rivaille eventually sighs, however. “You and I both know that it doesn’t end well.”

And he’s right. Unlike his captain, Eren hasn’t seen their deaths. Either way, choosing this path will take them dangerously close to imitating those dreaded nightmares. But still, the Eren and Rivaille of those nightmares share quiet glances that speak volumes.

Eren nods in understanding. He never really did expect for Rivaille to take him up on his offer.

“Erwin would probably kill me if he finds our scents intermingled,” Rivaille says, then pauses to consider it. That’s another point. The vampire with the stench of a werewolf will only cause them trouble.

“Come here,” Rivaille says, and it takes a moment for Eren to register the words.

He turns a hesitant gaze to Rivaille as the man unfolds his legs, and much to Eren’s horror, he pats his lap. Not to remove dust, but an invitation. 

“I don’t think…”

“That wasn’t a request.”

Eren’s heart races, beating against his ribs so hard he fears he might die.

He gets up from the bench and stands in front of Rivaille with his hands strictly by his side. He doesn’t look him in the eye as he debates how to approach this. Eren shuffles his feet, considers various options, but in the end, he goes with the only thing that makes the most sense.

Eren straddles him.

“Don’t touch me,” Rivaille says, but there’s no malice or disgust in it. He’s looking up at Eren, blue-gray eyes turning dark. “Only your mouth.”

Lungs fail him, rendering Eren unable to breathe. He can’t move.

“S-Sir?” Their previous kiss had not been premeditated. That brief second shared in Eren’s quarters was born of quiet hesitation and worried tenderness. This is very different, and Eren isn’t sure of how to deal with it – especially not while sitting on Rivaille’s lap.

Rivaille licks his lips, and it’s all of the invitation Eren needs. Modesty and embarrassment aside, he has wanted his captain for weeks, and he isn’t about to let the opportunity pass him by.

Leaning in and angling his head, Eren tries to not lose his balance, and opts to gripping the bench’s backrest.

Their mouths slot together in a hesitant dab, before Eren pulls away with a jittery feeling. About to get up, thinking that it’s over, Rivaille quickly leans in, but this time he brushes his cool lips against Eren’s hotter mouth.

Fully depositing his weight over Rivaille’s lap when excitement begins to swirl in his gut, Eren lets him.

The press and brush of lips feels delicately sweet, until Rivaille whispers, “Give me your tongue,” against Eren’s mouth.

It’s a confusing order, one Eren isn’t sure how to follow. He does the only thing he can do: stick out his tongue. He’s sure that he has just made an idiot out of himself, but just then, Rivaille latches onto his tongue and gives it a suck.

Gasping, Eren pushes their mouths together with too much force, but Rivaille doesn’t complain. He uses the momentum in his favor, claiming Eren’s mouth with so much fervor he nearly falls off the bench.

Rivaille tastes of peppermint tea. His mouth is cool but wet, and Eren shivers at the thought that he is actually kissing his captain.

To Eren’s shock, Rivaille is brave enough to bite down on Eren’s bottom lip.

Their mouths meet again with more pressure, more tongues, and more wet sounds to make Eren hard. The warmth of Rivaille’s body, the intimacy of their location, and the command to sit in such a compromising position has Eren’s head reeling with all kinds of thoughts, thoughts of how Rivaille had touched himself on that night, of how Eren wants Rivaille to touch him.

Eren makes the honest mistake of rutting into the body underneath him, because when he does, he can feel the obvious erection Rivaille has developed.

He freezes, swollen and slick lips pulling away when those cold eyes glare dangerously. “Get off.”

Fearing that he’s crossed the line, Eren hurriedly fumbles to his feet, face back to burning with humiliation. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says, looking down at his feet.

He hears Rivaille stand up, sees his shoes cross the grassy cover of the ground before pushing the leaves and moss aside. Moonlight spills in more freely, as does the breeze.

“Meet us in the valley in an hour,” he says without looking at Eren. “Erwin wants to see your improvement in hand-to-hand combat.”

As always, the difficulty of gauging Rivaille’s mood is irritating. Obviously upset by the revelation of arousal, now he simply sounds bored with the situation, as if Eren simply isn’t worth his time. More of that same previous anger ignites Eren’s fingertips.

“Controlling your temper has become a hard task to achieve lately,” Rivaille says, causing Eren to start.

Fists clenched by his sides, Eren looks away because he knows Rivaille speaks nothing but the truth. A truth Eren fears more than anything. There is never any gradual build; once provoked, the anger is simply there, struggling to be unleashed.

Rivaille walks towards him, intimidating Eren into stepping backwards until his back collides with the willow’s trunk. Even then, he pushes on, bringing their bodies flush together.

“This is why, Eren,” forearm to Eren’s chest, he pins him effectively, “we shouldn’t dally in fantasies that will only make us hesitate when that crucial moment comes.”

“I’ve resigned myself to my fate,” Eren says. “But that won’t keep me from living the present.” When Rivaille says nothing, Eren takes it as permission to continue. “You may have lived for decades, but I’m only eighteen. Have only just begun living two months ago.”

“You fancy yourself wise for a toddler.”

The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Eren can almost sense the eye roll Rivaille refrains from doing. “Rather late, but permission granted.”

“Don’t think I’m fragile, because I’m not. Whether I grow attached to things or not is my problem, and I won’t let it affect my performance within the Legion. Sir, kissing you won’t make me resent you when you take your blades to my neck, and neither will anything else.”

Rivaille’s eyes are steady, and he neither increases nor decreases the pressure against Eren’s chest. “I will treat you like an adult when you begin to act like one, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Indignant, Eren narrows his own, but doesn’t dare speak again. In this proximity, he can see the dust of doubt lingering behind blue-gray eyes, gears turning inside of Rivaille’s head. There isn’t any anger in him, just a threat with good intentions.

Pulling away from Eren, Rivaille adjusts his waistcoat with casual disinterest. “Besides,” he pulls at his cuffs, making sure they’re settled neatly over his wrists. “I don’t waste my time on novices.”

Eren’s muscles twitch involuntarily at the taunt. “Would I be more appealing after I’ve sleep with Commander Smith?” The question is out before he can think better of it, but to his surprise, Rivaille only seems to be considering the possibility.

“Perhaps.”

“You’re bluffing,” Eren says, still leaning against the tree. He’s rather repulsed by the idea of it.

“Only partly.” Rivaille settles a penetrating stare over Eren, one that feels like a physical touch to his groin. “After all, Erwin knows better than to touch what’s mine.”

Breath robbed from him yet again, Eren can say nothing until well after Rivaille is out of his sight.

❖

Unlike their last attempt at measuring Eren’s ability to fight, only the three of them take to the seemingly endless field behind the Smith Estate, away from prying eyes.

Only Rivaille wears his harness, swords by his side as a precaution. They won’t be using those tonight, but trust the captain to always be ready for any sort of inconvenience.

Erwin, on the other hand, carries with him two wooden sticks with a polished surface to prevent splinters. “We’ll be using these,” he says, casting one in Rivaille’s direction.

Eren had been expecting to use only his hands, like he and Gunther have been practicing. He doesn’t ask questions when ordered to sit on the grass and observe, Rivaille’s swords by his side.

“Trust is a key component within any unit,” Erwin is saying, tapping the end of the rod against his shoe. He twirls it, changes his hold from one hand to the other with so much speed Eren gapes, unable to tell when exactly he switched. “Being perfectly in tune with your peers is just as important as knowing your enemy. In this case, let’s pretend that Rivaille is both my peer as well as my enemy.”

Rivaille isn’t moving, simply holding the rod against his neck. Unlike Erwin, Rivaille is above showing off.

Eren watches, utterly rapt, when Erwin moves into a single precise lunge. Rivaille sidesteps him without batting an eyelash, swinging his rod, almost lazily, and tapping it against Erwin’s ankle. “One, zero.”

Erwin swings around, catching momentum, but Rivaille ducks out of the way. Attempted hit after hit, Rivaille simply evades it effortlessly, moving like smoke in the windy night. It’s when Erwin takes a false step that Rivaille stumbles, and taking the opening, Erwin swipes his rod at Rivaille’s legs. Fast, Rivaille hops to avoid getting hit, but Erwin is faster, reversing the path and aiming instead for Rivaille’s head.

Inches away from Rivaille’s nose, the rod stops with perfect control. “One, one,” Erwin says, a playful smile decorating his face.

Knees to his chest, Eren stares with a hand pressed to his mouth.

Rivaille clicks his tongue.

The perfect tandem in which they move is something to behold, beautiful and lethal in ways Eren can’t really describe. The wood makes no sound because they aren’t hitting each other, not even when they turn to using their weapons as shields when they need to.

Balance, precision, trust, and control.

It goes on and on, the two of them so wrapped up in each other, Eren is certain they’ve forgotten about him. The fact is made obvious when they fall into casual conversation, discussing the day’s occurrences as if they weren’t swinging at each other with deadly force.

Eren snaps out of his awed stupor when Erwin marks against Rivaille again, but this time, the commander pins the captain to the grass in a move that is far too suggestive to be categorized as unintentional.

From his spot, Eren can’t hear what Erwin tells Rivaille, mouths close together, but he can hear the resounding _thunk_ of Rivaille’s rod smacking Erwin’s forehead. “Nine, nine,” he says, shoving Erwin off of him.

“So mean,” Erwin whines, rubbing his forehead. “Not the type of bruise I was aiming for.”

Merciless killing machines, astute and ruthless politicians, or petulant children: Eren is unsure which side of his commanding officers he likes the most.

Regardless, Eren tries to keep his smirk in check when Erwin turns to him. “Your turn,” he says, handing Eren his rod.

Looking from Erwin to Rivaille, Eren can feel the blood rush from his face. “Sir?”

“Go on, Eren. I don’t expect you to get much done, but at least try to gauge your opponent. Putting yourself in a dangerous situation will heighten your senses. Learn to control that high, and wield it to your advantage.”

“You want me to fight the captain and _hope_ that I don’t get killed?”

“Exactly,” Erwin says with a lively smile. “You’re a fast learner. How hard could it be to fall into Rivaille?”

The wording doesn’t go lost on any of them.

“Hope’s got nothing to do with it,” Rivaille says, polishing the wood of his rod. “Study and learn.”

Erwin steps aside, placing a good distance between him and the duo about to spar.

Eren isn’t ready. A million thoughts threaten to immobilize him, and most of those are images of how brutally Rivaille had killed that werewolf. Vampirekind’s Strongest isn’t a title to be taken lightly.

As expected, Rivaille shows Eren no mercy.

Blinking stars out of his eyes, Eren takes a moment to catch the air that has escaped him the moment his back collides with the ground. His eyes cross when Rivaille stands over him, tapping his rod at the middle of Eren’s forehead. “One, zero,” he says.

To his left, Eren can hear Erwin’s muffled chuckle.

While getting to his feet, Eren is knocked onto his knees. “Two, zero.”

“Hey!”

Rivaille steps back, casually giving his rod a swing. “All is fair.”

Eren grumbles as he grips his rod tight, stands up and lunges for Rivaille, all in one swift motion, but he overshoots his momentum. Rivaille sidesteps him, but doesn’t go for a hit. Eren takes the chance to swing his rod, but the distance is too big, making him stumble when he fails to make contact.

A tap to Eren’s back. “Three, zero.”

“This is so fucking stupid,” Eren mumbles out into the night, but he is sure his officers heard him.

Eren goes for it again.

“Four, zero.”

And again.

“Five, zero.”

Sitting on the grass, Eren simply blinks up at his captain, fighting the urge to tackle him in real hand-to-hand combat. He isn’t being hit, but the light taps are far more annoying than any true blow. Well aware that Eren is supposed to study the way Rivaille moves, it’s a near impossible task. So far, the only thing Eren has learned is that he is incredibly fast, but that much he already knew.

“Get up,” Rivaille says, nudging Eren’s leg with the tip of his shoe.

Eren glares at him. “At this point it’s best for me to stay put.”

“Nobody likes a quitter.”

“I’m not a quitter, sir. I just know when the situation is hopeless.”

Rivaille actually sneers. “You’re a soldier. Your job is to keep fighting even when chances of winning are slim, not to roll over and accept defeat.”

“There’s no ‘slim’ chance here, Captain. Why bother?”

“Because hundreds of people sacrifice their lives in a war that is hopeless,” Erwin says, all trace of humor gone. “They know they are weak and useless, no match for the enemy outside the walls, and yet they still gear up and head into battle. None of them have the power you do.”

Eren stares at Rivaille’s feet, feeling ashamed of himself. His pride can’t handle handing himself over to defeat.

“If you win, you live,” Rivaille says, as if he were quoting something learned from a book. “If you lose, you die. If you don’t fight, you can’t win.” The words are simple and precise, and a part of Eren shifts with a hint of recognition. “Get up.”

Taking a steadying breath, Eren does so.

This time, it’s Rivaille who makes the first move. There is a different rhythm to his movements, and Eren realizes that he is now on the defensive rather than the offensive. He’s letting Eren take brief control of the match.

The tandem they fall into is similar to the one Rivaille and Erwin held, only less quick and less intense. They give and take, Rivaille curbing his stance to Eren’s own unique brand of sparring. He isn’t holding back, by any means, but he isn’t actively trying to knock Eren down. Like Erwin had mentioned, this isn’t about winning, but about being on equal footing.

Eren can feel himself grow bold with each swift exchange of stance, and every clash of their rods that isn’t silent. It’s easier to study Rivaille this way, perfectly controlled power, relying on his height to give him momentum when he needs it. The rest is just practiced skill, and Eren can only hope to match that in due time.

A tap to Eren’s shoulder. “Six, zero. You’re distracted.”

Resting the rod against his shoulder, like one would hold a musket, Eren shrugs. “Commander said to study you, so…” Without giving it much thought, Eren lets the rod fall forward, and by some cosmic fluke, it smacks Rivaille on the forearm.

There’s a beat of silence as the two of them stare at the offending rod.

“Six, one,” Eren quips with a grin, only slightly worried about the murderous glint in Rivaille’s otherwise calm eyes.

To the left, Erwin hums an impressed note. “All is fair.”


	12. Nitidus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for the unspeakable delay, but this chapter refused to flesh itself out for the longest time. But anyways, here it is, and there's plenty going on. Hopefully I can now get back on track with regular updates once finals are over. Happy Wednesday!

The cacophony of sounds is irritating to Rivaille’s ears. While the music may be pleasant, the constant chatter, muttering and incessant clipping of shoes against marble floors does for a nightmarish evening. Even the lively throe of a waltz doesn’t help in drowning out the sound of humans.

Glitter and gold twists and twirls from the high ceiling, cascading over the guests like glamorous rainfall. The women marvel at it, while the men flick it off their suits.

The smell of food is potent enough to overpower the stink of human, but Rivaille can still pick up on it whenever he lingers on the thought. It grates his nerves, but at least Eren’s scent is strong enough to cancel out both smells whenever he is near.

Speaking of Eren, Rivaille has never seen him so wide-eyed and at awe. He looks presentable with his hair slicked back. The clothing he wears is a gift from Rivaille himself, and he admits that dressing Eren in tones of emerald was a smart choice. From the cravat to the gloves, to the pocket watch and polished shoes, Eren looks worthy of royalty at long last.

“It’s like a fairy tale,” Eren says beside Rivaille’s ear, grinning. “Everything’s so beautiful; even the people.”

Rivaille is unimpressed. He has been to countless soirees over the decades, dozens of balls and the like, but none have really ever caught his attention. The idea of forced social interaction is unpleasant enough. He will admit, however, that there is something satisfying about seeing humans trying so desperately to fit in and seem respectable in the presence of others. It’s always fun to see them try to out-dress each other.

“Do you think we’d be able to dance?” Eren eventually asks, and he makes sure not to look at Rivaille when he does.

Rivaille makes a neutral noise, but doesn’t outright answer. Eren will be dancing tonight, but not with him. After the Etiquette fiasco, Rivaille took it upon himself to teach Eren the basics of ballroom dancing. As the newest member of the Legion, Eren needs to make a positive impression to both the human nobles and the vampiric council. The child has to sell the image of propriety to both species, while being part of an undesirable and loathed third party.

At strategic points in the ballroom are other soldiers of the Legion, dressed up in their formal uniforms, mingling with others. Despite this being a social event, both Erwin’s and Nile’s men are on guard for the night. A last moment memo arrived, stating that the king would be joining the festivities.

“My friends are here.” Eren is still talking. “Can I go talk to them, sir?”

His intention is to ignore him, but while scanning the crowd for any kind of odd behavior, Rivaille spots someone that should not have been here. Certain that he knows the man, although unable to put a name to him, Rivaille gives Eren a nod. “Don’t be long. We’re to escort the king once he arrives.”

Eren’s smile is wide and brilliant. “I’ll meet you by the main entryway, Captain.”

By the time Eren is gone, Rivaille is already making his way towards the man.

He takes the long path, choosing to avoid the mass of spinning couples at the center of the ballroom. Nobody pays him any heed. All the while, Rivaille is picking away at names but none seems to fit.

With long dark hair and big eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses, Rivaille can’t pinpoint a damn thing about him. 

“Excuse me, sir,” he says, approaching the table the man seems to be reluctant to step away from.

The man turns to him, slowly, and straightens himself up. Rivaille may be out of uniform, but his suit jacket carries the Wings of Freedom emblazoned over the right breast pocket, and over the left one is an assortment of medals he is certain speaks of his rank.

“Good evening, Captain,” the man says, but doesn’t offer a polite smile. He looks tired with bags under his eyes and he stinks, rather unsettlingly, of lycanthrope. “How may I be of service?”

The man removes his glasses, taking the lapels of his coat to clean them, and it’s in the absence of the light’s reflection that Rivaille can truly see his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react when he realizes that he has only ever seen the same hue of blue-green eyes on one other being. 

“I need you to come with me for a moment.”

But that isn’t it, Rivaille tells himself. There is something else tied in with this man and he grasps wildly at phantom images within his head.

“Is there a problem here?” Erwin says, somehow managing to sneak up on Rivaille without him noticing. He looks pleasant despite the blankness in his eyes.

“None that I’m aware of, Commander,” the man says, offering his hand to shake. Erwin does so, but when the hand is turned to Rivaille, he only stares at it with mild repulsion.

“If that’s the case, I apologize for any sort of inconvenience, Dr. Jaeger.” Erwin says, and places a hand on Rivaille’s shoulder, seemingly sensing the hell about to be unleashed at any given moment. But Rivaille is above petty arguments.

“I don’t mind,” the man says, looking to Rivaille with a frown. “Was there a reason for this?” His confidence is poorly practiced, unable to even hold eye contact.

At the squeeze of his shoulder, Rivaille turns on his heels and walks away without so much a word. Behind him, he can hear Erwin excusing them again before turning to follow.

Rivaille makes his way through the crowd of bustling nobles, silently fuming. He doesn’t understand why he feels wroth at the idea of having both Eren and his estranged father under the same gleaming roof. 

That aside, he’s angrier about the fact that Erwin continues to withhold important information.

“That man abandoned his child at the steps of a mental asylum,” Rivaille says when Erwin falls in by his side. “Give me one good reason why he shouldn’t mysteriously disappear this evening.” No man worth anything in this world would abandon their child, not to Rivaille.

“He isn’t your father,” Erwin says, trying his damndest not to sound patronizing. “Therefore this is none of your concern.”

“Eren is my ward; you can damn well bet this is my concern, now.”

“Grisha Jaeger is the king’s physician, Rivaille. Unless you want unfavorable consequences, I suggest you let it be.”

“You know about Eren’s past.”

“I was the one who delivered him to St. Chlorba.”

Rivaille stops once he reaches the main doors, turning to Erwin with a hard stare. The sense of betrayal feels cutting, and he is forced to keep himself in check. Now isn’t the time to become emotionally compromised, and heaven knows he shouldn’t be growing attached to the Legion’s dog.

Erwin stares at him with a look that says he knows exactly what Rivaille is thinking. “I told you, didn’t I?” 

He did, countless times.

Personal interests will not hinder Rivaille’s task, however. Unlike Eren’s naiveté, Rivaille is seasoned in the field of turning his blade on those he considers dearest without the slightest hesitation.

It would seem that the situation is a lot graver than Rivaille expected. If Grisha Jaeger is somewhat involved, who else is? The situation goes beyond the Reconnaissance Legion and the Royal Police, arriving on the king’s very lap.

Rivaille turns from Erwin to the doors at the sound of a commotion. 

The king’s carriage has arrived, and so attempting to crack the subject will have to wait. 

“We’re not done here,” he tells Erwin, who has the decency to look calmly displeased with Rivaille’s reluctance to blindly cooperate.

“Where’s Eren?” Erwin says instead.

“Here, sir,” Eren says, surfacing from the crowd with a smile and a bounce in his step.

As obedient as always, Rivaille thinks, pleased with Eren’s timing. It is time to demonstrate that he is, in fact, in perfect control of the Legion’s domesticated monster. Social event aside, all eyes will be on them throughout the evening.

“Make sure not to get lost in the crowd,” Erwin says, holding Eren’s eyes in an intimidating way. The boy lowers his head in a respectful bow. “The less attention you attract, the better it will be for you.”

Eren looks from his shoes, over to Rivaille. Nervousness is evident on his big eyes.

The noise inside of the hall increases as the Legion’s escorts usher the people to make way, parting the crowd, clearing a path to the throne at the head of the ballroom. The people go willingly, gossiping among themselves in excited and hushed tones.

On the left door stands Pixis, a tall and balding man, commander of the Garrison Regiment. Beside him is a small woman, with pale yellow hair tucked behind her ear: Captain Rico, of the same military branch. They are a mirror to Erwin and himself, who stand at the right door. The only difference is a jittery Eren that nearly bounces by Rivaille’s side.

Both commanders open the massive doors simultaneously, and it works as a signal for every single person present to fall silent.

Rivaille casts a look outside, at the heavily guarded carriages under the cover of night.

He sees Nile at the head, hands behind his back and chin held high like the arrogant prick he is. After him comes the Royal Police’s elite with muskets resting over their shoulders. They line the path the Legion has cleared on both sides, saluting as they wait for the king’s entrance.

Shortly after, a slew of royals spills into the room, and Rivaille makes sure to catalogue all of their faces in case anything out of the ordinary were to happen. They all reek of suspicion, but no one in particular raises red flags.

The king is the last to enter, and the solemnity in the air is nearly tangible when he does. Soldiers salute and humans bow in his wake, both respectful and awed.

Rivaille salutes out of obligation. Beside him, Eren does the same, but his eyes are large with childish wonder.

There is nothing relatively marvelous about the king, not to Rivaille. He’s a man just like any other, tall and lanky, almost frail. His hair is so long it reaches past his waist, and it nearly matches the gold color of his crown. The king walks with his hands loosely by his sides, and he looks like he would rather be anywhere else rather than here. Rivaille doesn’t blame him in the slightest.

Once he nears the throne, Erwin gives Rivaille a nod before moving to follow the parade. In turn, Rivaille nods at Eren. The boy knows what to do.

Introduction ceremonies are the worst part of social affairs, and the Legion has the honor to go first.

Rivaille keeps his eyes on the king as he sits leisurely at his throne, nodding curtly when Erwin walks up to stand before the flight of steps that lead to the throne. 

Erwin bows with enough grace to set anyone to shame. “Erwin Smith, 14th Commander of the Reconnaissance Legion,” he says, and to Rivaille’s surprise, the king presents his hand.

It’s easy to see that the gesture alone takes Erwin off guard. This isn’t protocol.

Head held high, Erwin ascends the flight of steps and kneels before the king, taking the man’s hand and pressing his lips to his ring in a display of respect.

Rivaille must admit that seeing someone as proud as Erwin demonstrate submission to a higher power is greatly satisfying.

“It is an honor, Commander,” the king says, and he sounds surprisingly young despite the wear on his face.

“The honor is all mines, your Highness.” Erwin gets up, bows, before walking off to the side with a stiff set on his shoulders.

Rivaille is next. Eren stands just a step behind by his side.

“Captain Rivaille of the Reconnaissance Legion,” he says simply, bowing without much show.

The bored expression upon the king’s face is briefly expelled. “Humanity’s Strongest. I have heard a great deal regarding you.” Before Rivaille can even reply, the king’s eyes immediately turn to Eren.

The gulp Eren takes is nearly audible as he bows, arms stiffly by his side. He’s nothing but a mass of nervousness. “Eren Jaeger, private of the Reconnaissance Legion,” he manages to say without missing a beat.

The king fleetingly looks across the crowd before settling his sights back on Eren with a nod. Rivaille is good at reading people, but the blankness that settles over the king’s face is eerily similar to Erwin’s own. He finds himself wondering if the king is also a purebred chiropter.

To Rivaille’s dismay, the king presents his hand.

“Not you, Captain,” the king says, his eyes steady on Eren.

Eren looks to Rivaille with wide eyes, and all he can do is nod at the boy. Guardian or not, Rivaille is way out of league where the king’s orders are concerned.

He watches intently as Eren climbs the steps and kneels, politely keeping eye contact as he presses a kiss to the king’s ring.

The gesture is innocent enough, but it doesn’t sit well in Rivaille’s gut. The entire situation smells of some sort of display, and Rivaille briefly entertains the thought of it truly being intentional. Eren’s father is in the crowd, and what a better way to make him lay eyes on his son?

Eren joins Rivaille’s side shortly after, and the two of them join the rest of the Legion. Unsurprisingly, Erwin is gone.

“What was that about?” Eren asks, leaning close to Rivaille. “I was never told about that.”

Rivaille doesn’t answer him.

The Garrison’s commanding officers are next, and then follow the lesser royals.

During the meeting in which the ball had been discussed, Erwin had mentioned there being a possibility of an attack. Armin had agreed, stating that whoever had ordered the attack on St. Chlorba – if anybody – may come after Eren once again. The ball would be perfect. Between the immense crowd and most of security placed on the king, the odds of someone infiltrating were high.

It had all been speculation, however, and pretty farfetched. They had nothing to go on rather than gut feelings and maybes, but Rivaille knows better than to doubt Erwin’s word. If the commander says something is coming, something is definitely coming.

Tying up those ends, there is a possibility that the king himself may be involved in whatever it is that is going on. But, if true, then the Royal Police would have fought harder for Eren’s custody.

“I can’t smell him,” Eren says, his voiced hushed.

“Who?”

“The king. I kissed his ring, and yet I couldn’t smell anything other than soap.”

Rivaille had realized it as well, but a part of him hadn’t deemed it important. “Don’t wander off on your own,” he tells Eren, leveling him with a hard stare. “Do you understand?”

Eren’s eyes are wide, but he nods. “I know. What’s going on?”

“Follow me,” Rivaille says, heading for a castle hallway, away from the mess of people. He doesn’t slow down, or wait for Eren to keep up with him.

Only purebreds are capable of masking their scent without the aid of a second party, so unless Erwin is catering to the king’s needs, there’s someone else here. As if having one power player under a single roof isn’t bad enough.

Erwin is nowhere to be found, and Rivaille guesses if he’s able to piece this up as he goes, then that means that Erwin is already way ahead of him and is already planning a course of action.

Seeing Mike hurrying down the hallway makes Rivaille clench his teeth. His usually concentrated features look out of place. “Captain.” Nothing else needs to be said.

Rivaille nods. “Take Eren to the ballroom; make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“What?” Eren snaps, glancing from Mike to Rivaille. He looks insulted. “But, sir—”

“That’s an order,” Rivaille says. “Go mingle with your friends.”

“What if something happens?” Eren says, well aware that something is off.

“Then it would the perfect opportunity to test your skills.” He turns to Mike. “Where is he?”

“The old library.”

Giving Eren one more stern look, Rivaille turns away.

❖

The library is located deep within the castle, well after an intricate arrangement of confusing passageways. The massive room is now bare, the wooden shelves devoid of books of any kind. Only a table rests at the center of the room. No chairs.

This was once a fountain of knowledge before the fall of Wall Maria. The castle itself had been a fortress that hosted the Wall’s most gifted minds for meetings of the strategic kind. Now it’s but a shell of what it used to be, used for pathetic social gatherings and nothing else. A historical landmark, of sorts.

Music can be heard in the distance, although muffled through stone walls that surround them.

Erwin stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, and chin encased between his fingers. Next to him is Hanji, pouring over a set of pamphlets. Neither of them pay Rivaille much heed as he walks in through the door.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Mike smells lycans,” Hanji says without preamble. “Aside from Eren. A dozen, maybe even more.” She sounds grim despite the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

Rivaille stares at her, fearing that leaving Eren by himself wasn’t the best choice. “Are they here already?”

“They’re coming from the south,” Erwin says, walking away to stand by the window.

“Plan of action?” Rivaille presses, thinking that there are nowhere near enough of them to fend off lycans while serving as protection to those inside the hall.

“Lockdown the ballroom. Nobody gets in or out until the coast has cleared.”

“The king?”

“A decoy,” Erwin says, straightening up and fixing his evening jacket.

Rivaille narrows his eyes. “A decoy?”

“They knew,” he says, looking grim. “They knew it would be dangerous to have the king attend, so they sent someone in his place.”

“You don’t think he’s a shifter?” The question garners a strange look from both Hanji and Erwin. “He doesn’t smell human. He doesn’t smell like anything, truth be told.”

Hanji casts Erwin a look that is unrequited. She’s asking for permission, and Rivaille instantly tenses. He feels like yelling that this isn’t the time for Erwin’s stupid mind games, but instead he waits for whatever they have to say.

At Erwin’s minute nod, Hanji says, “There are three other shifters in the room and it’s safe to assume that their level of intelligence rivals Eren’s own. They’re well hidden, but I don’t think the king is one of them.”

“Neither is Grisha,” Erwin says, looking down at the pamphlets Hanji has spread out.

“But he’s working for them.”

“Or working with them,” Rivaille says, crossing the room to look out the window. A thin film of white covers the neighboring forest. “The Royal Police know about this.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Erwin draws out a document from the pile, runs his eyes across it. “This is above them. Whatever is going on has a direct link to the king.”

That much he knows. “What kind of decoy is he?” People barely know the mannerisms of the king, in which case, this performance would be superb. The military, on the other hand, are above senseless humans. This version of the king flaunts his pride too much.

Erwin’s eyebrows push together as he thinks. “The not-human kind. The problem would be figuring out how far back this actually goes.”

“As in, is he a decoy assigned by the king,” Hanji says, her face contorted into a discomforting frown, “Or did it assign itself to the roll.”

Rivaille turns his attention back to Erwin, the gears in his head grinding as they turn. He wants to know what’s going through that head of his, what pieces he has joined together and which are still afloat.

The semblance of an idea begins to form in Rivaille’s head, his own theory, however farfetched it may seem, but Erwin always says that whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth. Rivaille still needs information, and if Erwin is unwilling to share all that he knows, he’ll look for it himself.

A knock on the door draws their attention to it, and Mike walks in, looking ruffled.

“The lower level has been secured. We have guards at all points along the castle’s perimeter,” he says, drawing his sword from its sheath. “They’re here.”

Rivaille nods his head, mirroring his movements and drawing his weapons. “The odds of lycans making it past them?”

“Highly plausible.”

If the attack on St. Chlorba had been premeditated, than the odds of lycanthropes using the glass windows as an entryway yet again is highly unlikely. If they are intelligent, they’ll find a way to slip in unnoticed, much like the shifters inside the ballroom.

Rivaille turns back to Erwin. “The shifters will most likely let them in.”

“Unless they know of a passage we’re unaware of, they won’t be able to get anywhere,” Mike explains. “Every potential way in or out has been taken care of.”

“In that case, they’ll use the higher levels to get in. Subtlety isn’t their strongpoint,” Erwin says, deciding on his post. “Hanji, gather a group and stand guard at the mouth of the west wing.”

“Yes, sir,” she says with a grin, moving towards a wooden box propped against the wall. From it, she draws a dagger which she slips into her boot, and two swords. “Godspeed.” And with that, she’s out the door and running down the hallway.

“Levi’s unit?”

“They’re the ones stationed within the ballroom, along with the new recruits.”

The information offers Rivaille a sense of relief.

“Mike, cover the right wing. Levi and I will take the top level of the main tower.”

Offering a respectful bow, Mike darts in the opposite direction of which Hanji left.

Rivaille heads out into the hallway, not waiting for Erwin to catch up. He trails behind Mike, but rather than following him under the archway, he takes a left, mounting an enclosed spiral staircase. By the time he reaches the top, Rivaille might not hear him, but he can sense Erwin close behind.

The top floor of the castle is barren, covered in so much dust that Rivaille grimaces the moment he catches sight of it. The wood beneath his feet is termite eaten, parts of it rotted away, leaving gaping holes that lead to an abandoned cistern on the first floor.

Years ago, this had been the main ballroom, reserved only for royalty before the castle was shut down. Now it lies forgotten. Clean only what you see. It repulses him, much like the equivalent of sweeping around furniture.

Erwin approaches the one wall made of stained glass.

Rivaille assumes that his objective is – if the lycans so choose to enter through here – to take the brunt of the attack themselves, lowering the chances of their soldiers getting wounded. Right now, civilians are their top priority, and they need all hands at the ready to defend them.

The floor creaks, and Rivaille’s attention turns to Erwin.

He’s testing the floorboards. Anything heavier than a crate will cause the wood to buckle.

Rivaille walks along the room, testing for the flimsiest areas to exploit, when the sound of shattering glass makes him look up.

Erwin uses the hilt of his sword to break a pane of glass big enough for someone to enter through, sending shards raining onto the steps below.

Looking through the gap, Rivaille spots Gunther looking up at them, before returning his attention to the mouth of the forest, stance tense.

He can smell them by now, the repulsive stench of wet dog. It carries in the frigid wind, dancing around his nose. There’s still no sign of them.

“They may be here for Eren,” Erwin says, keeping his eyes trained on the forest.

Rivaille suspects as much. “We have everyone we need in a single place. There has to be a way we can draw some kind of information from them.”

“A direct approach is out of the question.” Lifting a piece of glass, Erwin smoothly runs it across his palm until blood bubbles to the surface. He smears it along the wall’s ledge like an offering. “Anything of the sort will draw attention to us; force them to reinforce their security, making it harder for the truth to be breached.”

Mouth watering at the delectable scent, Rivaille clicks his tongue. “There’s no time for shitty mind games.”

Slit hand now held in front of Rivaille, Erwin hums. “That’s the thing about being immortal. We have all the time in the world.” He gives Rivaille a tiny smile. “Drink.”

Rivaille’s jaw clenches as he tries to deny his thirst the pleasure, but he can’t. Cradling Erwin’s hand between the soft cotton of his gloves, Rivaille brings it to his lips, lapping away at the scarlet nectar that serves to heighten his adrenaline. 

As sweet as always.

His gloves are left stained when he finally lets the hand fall away.

“The situation will be approached as always.”

At his words, Rivaille lifts his head. “I trust your judgment,” because there is nothing else he can do.

It isn’t long before the sounds of a skirmish reaches their ears; trees shaking, knocking down the snow from their tops. The scent of blood is quick to come, both lycan and chiropter alike.

They wait, hoping for the best, but always expecting the worse.

Rivaille grips the hilt of his sword when shadows sway at the edge of the forest, the stink closer than before. Next to him, Erwin curses.

Ten lycans emerge unscathed, leaving blood that isn’t their own along the snow. But one of them is different.

The physiognomy between average lycanthropes and shifting lycanthropes are vastly different, something they have catalogued during Eren’s tests. While the unintelligent version of the species appears grotesque in nature, shifters are much more reminiscent to actual wolves: four legs, a snout, covered in fur. The strength behind their muscle is far greater, their agility more feline than canine, but there is a disadvantage. Non-shifters bear claws similar to human hands, granting them the ability to grab.

Among the nine non-shifters stands a yellow wolf, awesome in its size, the fur along its spine raised, ready to charge. 

Erwin doesn’t have to say it; they’re taking that one alive.

The wolf looks up, lured by the scent of a purebred’s blood.

Twisting his sword, Rivaille imitates Erwin’s earlier action, smashing the panes of glass with its hilt in the form of an invitation. The two of them climb onto the ledge, but it’s Levi who walks out onto the narrow walkway along the outer wall, mindful of his step.

A piercing howl raises the hair on the back of his neck. A command in which the lycans obey by charging towards the castle front.

Those positioned at the foot of the steps move into action swiftly and efficiently, but there aren’t enough soldiers to deter them all.

Rivaille watches as four lycanthropes climb up the castle walls with surprising ease, using the towers as stepping stones. One of them yelps as a patch of stone gives way, sending it crashing onto the ground below.

He doesn’t move, waiting for them to get nearer, and he tenses when their stride slows to something dangerous, plotting. “Get on with it, you ugly fuck,” he says, low and lethal.

They begin to close in on him, surrounding him, growling around the spit oozing from their decrepit snouts and yellowing teeth.

The first one attacks the moment he draws out his second sword.

It tries to put up a fight, but Rivaille rids himself of the pest like brushing dirt off his coat. Kick to the gut, send it to its knees, another kick to the shoulder, making it whirl around with the blow, one swift gash to the nape, and done. He shoves it off the ledge with his boot, sending it crashing down.

He kills another, and then another, until he’s left with only one. This one, he severs its joints, rendering it unable to move. Rivaille makes sure to keep his foot against its head, in case it regenerates quicker than he needs it too.

He looks down at the gold shifter still looking up at him.

“I know you know this is a trap,” he tells it, “but we can pretend to be civil about it.” Lifting his foot, he drives the tip of his sword into the brain of the creature underneath it. “Or I can kill you. The choice is yours.”

The shifter has no sympathy for its kind, and it almost seems like it’ll once again disappear into the forest, but it doesn’t. Regardless of the unit closing in behind it, the wolf leaps up and lands on the rooftop of a neighboring tower in a single bound. It pads closer, bobbing its head like the dog it is.

Rivaille jumps up onto the wall’s ledge again, where Erwin stands, analyzing the events unfolding before him.

Another jump, and the wolf walks along the walkway, stopping only a few feet away from them. It sits back like an obedient pet.

The thing executes more control than Eren does while in his wolf form, convincing Rivaille that the shifter is older, perhaps, more experienced than him. Icy blue eyes are devoid of that manic glint. It even bows when Erwin comes into view.

Expecting it or not, Rivaille is set on edge at the discovery of other intelligent lycanthropes.

“If you’re here for the boy, I’m afraid he won’t be able to help you,” Erwin says, but he doesn’t get very far.

They hadn’t been counting on diplomatic protocol, but still the ambush comes as no surprise.

A flurry of wolves rushes out of the forest, and before either of them can react to them, the shifter in front of Erwin leaps inside the tower in a single movement. Reliant on its agility and momentum, the shifter runs along the walls and broken windowsills, avoiding the flimsy floorboards at all costs.

Rivaille is ready to charge, chase it down before it can get to the lower levels of the castle, but Erwin stops him.

“Don’t let any more infiltrate the tower,” he orders, his words tight and measured. “I’ll manage this one.”

He nods, and doesn’t stay put to watch Erwin hurry out into the hallway.

Lycans crawl up the weathered walls like spiders, and the accompanying waltz from the ballroom makes the situation all the more absurd.

Swords at the ready, Rivaille keeps himself balanced, but already others from the Legion are swinging down from the copulas, slashing and hacking away at the enemy. By this point, their intention isn’t to kill, but to disable. Protecting those inside the ballroom is still their priority.

With a foot to the forehead of a lycanthrope that comes too close, Rivaille kicks it with enough force to send it crashing onto the steps several meters below, taking two others with it. Keeping the tower from being infiltrated is easy enough, until he spots three more shifters emerge from the tree line.

The two larger ones - one yellow and one brown - dart off towards the east and west side of the castle, but the smaller one stares up at him, awkwardly shuffling its paws before making the jump. 

Unlike the previous shifter, this one moves clumsily. Rivaille allows it to reach him, weapons at the ready.

The shifter walks over to him, and he takes cautious steps backwards, wanting to lure it into the trap.

However, the wolf balances itself on the wall’s ledge, and shakes its head.

Black fur recedes into a mop of short and unruly hair, and the long snout morphs into a face that is round with youth. Powerful extremities revert into gangly limbs. The transition is smooth and controlled, unlike Eren’s own.

The face is a familiar one.

“Captain,” he says with a polite bow of his head. “I know this may seem odd, and suspicious, and I’m aware that you have no reason to heed my words, but please, I beg of you. Hear what I have to say.”

Rivaille doesn’t reply, sharply assessing the boy. He can’t be much older than Eren, and the freckles that dust his cheeks add to the softness of him. He looks like he should be working on a farm, not fighting an age-long war.

“I have reason to believe that we both aim for the same objective,” the boy says, curling into himself in order to shield his nudity. “All we want is to protect Eren, and we fear that keeping him in the Legion will only place him in harm’s way.”

“And, what? Do you want us to hand him over out of the goodness of our hearts?” Rivaille says, his hold on the sword tightening.

“Yes,” he says with a charming smile. “It would be a lie to claim that our species is by any means innocent, but I can say with complete confidence that we are the lesser of evils.”

Rivaille nearly chuckles at the absurdity.

From below, the sounds of the fight have dwindled, and no other lycan has attempted to storm the tower.

“There isn’t much time,” the boy says, casting uneasy glances towards the doorway. “Whether you choose to believe me or not is entirely up to you, but please, _please_ do not inform your superiors of this.”

It’s the first thing he intends to do, actually, but he listens anyways. Whatever lies this creature will spew may hold the underlying truth of the situation. Without a doubt, Smith will be able to strip away what they need.

“Beyond Wall Rose, in the old district of Shiganshina, there is a house that once belonged to the Jaeger family. In its cellar are records that can dismantle the monarchy, most of which involve connections between the doctor, the king, and the lycanthropes.” The shifter looks over his shoulder, down at the bloodshed. “There is a possibility that the cellar may still be in use—”

“Bullshit,” Rivaille says before he can stop himself. His bites his tongue and glowers at the boy, as if it had been his fault.

Nothing on the other side of Wall Rose is functional, not since its fall. Only lycanthropes roam those forsaken lands.

The boy shakes his head. “You must retrieve those documents.”

“Why?” Rivaille asks, his nostrils flaring when the scent of Erwin’s blood caresses his nose. Instinct tells him to run to him, but his attention has been caught here. “Why tell us this?”

“I’m telling _you_ , sir.” The brightness of his eyes dims to something darker, grief-stricken and worn. It’s the look of a soldier who has seen unspeakable things, and has done worse things yet. “Time is running short, I won’t be able to tell you everything, but we may be able to alter the outcome. We have to.”

“Give me one reason why I should trust you?”

“Because, Corporal, I know how this story ends.”

Rivaille’s jaw clenches, briefly averting his eyes before turning them back to the boy. He wants to ask questions, but something tells him that the boy only knows what is absolutely necessary, and the he won’t be cooperative beyond what he’s already shared. Instead, Rivaille gives him a single nod of the head.

Who the hell else remembers?

“The other shifters?” Rivaille asks.

“I can’t betray them,” the boy is quick to assert, shoulders tensing. “I won’t. You’ll kill them if I tell you their names.”

“Have I done so before?” He’s pushing his luck and he knows it, but morbid curiosity reels him in.

The boy stares for a long moment, debating his answer. “No, but they’ve taken lives dear to you,” he says, and his tone is barely above a whisper. There’s an unspoken apology in each intake of breath. “Find the documents and destroy them if you must. I don’t know much about this myself but the cycle must be broken. Hell, if you won’t give Eren to us, then take him away, but you can’t let the Legion use him as a weapon. That’s exactly what the Royal Police wants.”

Rivaille’s fingers twitch over the hilt, his thoughts running a mile a second. The odds of manipulation have always been there, so he can’t say he’s entirely surprised by the allegation.

“And I’m afraid Commander Smith will only make things worse.”

The accusation is hesitant, but there’s a stream of conviction that holds the words together.

The sound of voices echo down the hallway, and the boy is already climbing down from the window when a howl pierces the air. His eyes narrow, almost falling off the roof when he fumbles with a simple ring around his finger. Rivaille deduces what it’s for the moment he notices a tiny needle break away from it.

“Wait,” he says before the boy can take the sharp object to his skin. “Your name, at least.”

The shifter hesitates, holding the sharp edge just above his finger. 

“Marco,” he says. “But please, don’t tell Eren. I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if he thinks any less of me because of this.” Marco gives him a sad smile. “Oh, and another thing, make sure to take his key with you.”

About to enquire why that would be necessary, a group of lycans burst in through the door. 

Rivaille has no time to react, because behind him, Marco is cutting into his skin, and the roar of transformation blocks out all other sound.

He does, however, witness how they all clumsily spill into the room at once, and the floor gives away beneath their grimy claws.

They all tumble down in an ungraceful heap, slamming brutally onto the cistern three stories below. Most of them don’t get up, and Rivaille takes the opportunity to off them.

Gracefully sliding down the sheer wall, Rivaille wastes no time and gashes out their napes.

He’s drenched in blood by the time he’s done, and he sneers at the horrid feel of it. It seeps through his clothing, and the fact that he’ll stink of low-bred lycanthrope sickens him a great deal. He can already feel the judgmental glances on his back once he returns to the ballroom.

But that aside, Marco’s words hang heavily on his mind. Honestly, he doesn’t remember much from his dreams – this other life that may not be exclusive to just him and Eren. He does, however, remember the death and destruction that had rained down on him. He remembers the grief, although he cannot remember the faces of those who caused it.

Rivaille debates whether or not telling Erwin is a good idea. He decides that he will sleep on it, so to speak, and then carefully plot his next move. This may all just be a simple plan devised to get him killed when he wanders into the ruins of Wall Maria, but gut instinct tells him otherwise. Lie or not, Rivaille will get to the bottom of it before letting anyone else know.

“Captain?” Petra calls from above. He looks up at her. “Can you climb out?”

He lays a blood-stained glove over the sleek wall, and shakes his head when he finds no way to get a proper grip. “Get some rope,” he calls up, sheathing his words as she walks away.


	13. Ausculor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I have a perfectly valid excuse for the delay which I won't go into details over but here it is! Just wanted to point out that I will **not** be dropping this story, regardless of how long it takes me to get an update up. Thank you to everyone who is still sticking around and leaving lovely reviews, kudos, and the like. Needless to say, those always put a smile to my face. ♥ Have a marvelous weekend!

“Something is happening,” Armin whispers into Eren’s ear, carefully angling them away from Mikasa, who stares at them impassively. “I can hear scuffling outside.”

Eren nods at him, pressing his lips into a tight line. He’s been smelling dozens of shifters, and his blood is burning with the need to burst out and fight or do anything that might be helpful. 

“We have to stay here,” he tells him, looking around the room. “We were ordered to keep everyone safe. I’m sure the elders can handle it.” He wants to believe his words but the thought keeps nagging at him. Even if Rivaille and Erwin and the others were ready to handle whatever is going on, Eren fears for their safety.

All around them, the music is still going. Glitter is still falling, people are still chattering, and heels continue to beat rhythms against the floor as they dance and twirl. No one has noticed anything odd and even the king still sits on his throne, looking spectacularly bored with everything.

“I’m right here,” Mikasa remarks, bringing her shawl closer around her shoulders. “Care to tell me what’s happening?”

Eren looks at her, and then back at Armin. “Um…”

“I already know what’s what,” she says, combing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind the ear. “I just want to know if there’s something I should be aware of. Soldiers shouldn’t be the only ones with important information where others’ well being is concerned.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eren says with a lopsided grin. “These type of situation is what we’ve trained for.”

Mikasa considers him for a moment. “So there _is_ a situation.”

Armin jabs his elbow into Eren’s ribs, making him wince.

“It’s really nothing to worry about, Mikasa. I’m sure it’s just a drill,” Armin tries, giving Eren a dirty look.

“What’s a drill?” Jean asks when he emerges from the crowd, looking all manners of annoyed. His hair is slicked back, and he looks ridiculous rather than elegant. “What are you freaks planning?”

“A-Absolutely nothing!” Armin says, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “We’re just verifying if the perimeters are secure, since the king is here and all.”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Jean gestures his head towards the throne. “The guy rarely shows up at social events and yet, here he is. Totally unexpected.”

Taking an end of the crimson shawl, Mikasa presses it to her lips, almost coyly. “It’s suspicious, to say the least.”

“There’s nothing suspicious going on here,” Eren says with a pout. He hates it when no one listens to him. “And what the hell are you doing here, _Jean?_ Quit butting in on stuff.”

“Free ball, Jaeger, I can go wherever the hell I want,” he says, crossing his arms and squaring his shoulders. “Besides, I’m here to ask Mikasa if she wanted to dance. Since none of you have asked for the honors.”

“I’m on duty,” Armin defends. “Dancing isn’t allowed.”

All three of them look to Eren who shrugs. Truth is, asking Mikasa to dance had never crossed his mind. It isn’t like he kept assisting to his Etiquette class. Still, the prospect of Jean even touching her grates his nerves.

“Why don’t you go dance with Marco?” 

It’s meant as a jab, but Jean takes the question seriously. “I can’t find the twit anywhere, actually. Anyone seen him?”

“He’s probably in the restroom?” Armin offers.

“Already checked. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

Eren tenses, feeling the first dregs of anxiety coiling in his gut. Everyone should be in the main hall as was instructed. Besides, there are guards stationed at every entrance and exit, he couldn’t have gone far without an escort. Jean is just probably looking with his eyes closed.

Still, an uneasy feeling settles in the back of his head.

Armin, too, looks a bit unsettled. 

“I’ll go look for him. Eren, make sure everyone’s having a pleasant time, yes?” Armin’s tone is pleasant, but by now, Eren knows him enough to read between the lines. He’s being asked to check up on everything, make a general headcount in case anyone has snuck in or out.

“What about you?”

“I’ll go check in with Commander Smith and see if there’s anything he needs,” he says, sternly nodding his head. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

Armin retreats into the sea of people, his green cloak billowing behind him.

“Go ahead, Eren,” Mikasa says, reassuringly. “I believe I owe Jean a dance.”

The words force Eren to do a double-take, but there’s something lurking in her dark eyes. She’s giving him an out, distracting Jean without even knowing what is going on.

“What, really?” Jean gawks, and then gathers his wits with a cough. He runs a hand over the lapels of his jacket, and then offers one for Mikasa to take. “Miss Ackerman.”

Poised and delicate, Mikasa places her hand over Jean’s own. “Herr Kirschstein.”

Jean closes his hand and gives her a brilliant smile, one that turns mocking when he faces Eren. “Have fun running errands.”

Eren gives him a tight smile that smells of contempt, but says nothing as he watches them walk towards the center of the ballroom.

He waits, discreetly throwing looks this way and that, searching for any kind of suspicious behavior.

Slowly, he makes his way to the outer rim of the dance floor, hands politely at his back and chin held high. His fingers tap to the beat of the current lively waltz, all the while his attention remains on the people around him. He fights the urge to crawl into a niche and not come out, but at least nobody is paying him any sort of attention.

At the arches that lead into the hallways are soldiers, all of which Eren recognizes.

He sees Mike exchanging a hurried word with Erd, who nods and darts down the corridor, his station now taken up by Mike himself.

Eren keeps his distance, and continues to walk around.

He spots Connie and Sasha by the food table, laughing in a fashion he’s sure their etiquette instructor would highly disapprove of.

A flash of red catches his attention, making him look towards the center of the floor, where Jean and Mikasa are tastefully spinning to the orchestra. She looks positively unimpressed with the entire situation, despite Jean’s apparent attempts at engaging her in conversation. Were it anyone else, he would feel bad for them, but since it’s _Jean…_

The others are harder to spot, mostly because Eren has only briefly exchanged words with them during class.

However, there are several people missing, not just Marco.

Eren stops stretching out his neck in order to look around when he notices that he is, in fact, being stared at.

The glance he and the man a few feet away share is brief, and charged with something unknown that makes Eren shift uncomfortably. Like a dream forgotten, various thoughts try to form in the back of his mind, but nothing concrete emerges.

Long hair and glasses are the only things that catch Eren’s interest for some reason or another, but he can’t, for the life of him, tell why.

The man is the first to look away, turning his back and disappearing into the crowd.

Eren is left standing there, mouth slightly agape, and hands fisted at his lower back. He feels ill, jittery, and he wants to get away. He wants to escape the roomful of people, the eyes he knows aren’t on him, but feels like they are. He wants to vanish.

A hand softly touches his elbow, causing him to start. Eren does his best not to snarl at whoever has intruded in his thoughts, and succeeds, mostly when he realizes who it is.

He finds himself looking down at a head of blonde hair done up in an extravagant bun, with luscious curls falling onto slender shoulders. Blue eyes look up at him with a friendly gleam.

“Miss Reiss,” Eren says, remembering to at least be polite. He bows and holds out his hand, which she takes in order for him to give it a proper kiss.

Historia usually looks like royalty, with her petite form and soft-spoken voice. But now, dressed in a pale blue gown, wearing white gloves and diamonds, she looks like a genuine princess.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she says with a blinding smile. “I expected to at least see you with Armin.”

“Oh, uh…” Eren scratches the back of his neck. “He’s around. Making sure everything’s going smoothly.”

Historia smiles at him, and he’s stunned silent by how white and straight her teeth are. “I sometimes forget that the two of you are already soldiers, despite the young age.”

Eren giggles without his own consent, and then mentally smacks himself for his behavior. “Well, yeah.”

“Would you care to walk with me?”

“Huh? What?”

“The both of us don’t really have anyone to spend our time with at the moment, so why not keep each other company?” She presses a gloved hand to her mouth, almost coyly. “Also, I keep getting approached by strangers despite my efforts to keep them away.”

Eren straightens up, finally getting what she means. “Oh! Yes, of course. I’ll make sure nobody else bothers you.”

“Thank you so, _so_ much, Eren,” she says. He hadn’t realized how tense she had been until she sags with relief. “One of the guards told me we weren’t allowed outside, so maybe we can just stay on the sidelines?”

Extending his arm, Historia does the same and places their hands palm to palm.

“That’s what I’ve been doing,” he says, guiding her through the lesser crowded patches of the hall. “These balls are just as boring as I expected them to be.”

“They can get worse, believe me. At least the king is here, serving up some good gossip, if you’re the kind for it.”

“Not really. I’d rather read.”

Historia hums with interest. “Right, tell me your favorite books.”

It takes a colossal amount of effort not to let his fingers twitch. “Anna Karenina,” he says, because it’s the only book he’s ever read. And he hasn’t even finished it yet.

“Oh! You never really struck me as the type for women’s literature. This is exciting,” Historia says, looking up at him with large eyes that shine with joy. “Have you read Sense and Sensibility? It’s an outstanding read.”

Eren fidgets. _Women’s literature._ He had no idea literary genres were divided between men’s and women’s. Why would Rivaille get him such a thing?

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Eren says, deciding that he doesn’t care. He’s enjoyed his book, so if he’s developed a taste for women’s literature, so be it.

“In that case, remind me to lend you my copy come Monday morn.”

Regardless, the prospect of having something new to read makes him smile. “That would be greatly appreciated, Miss Reiss.”

“Please, just call me Historia. I don’t hear you saying ‘Miss Ackerman’ all the time.”

“True, but I guess that’s because Mikasa and I go back.” Or so he feels.

“I was under the impression we all met on the same day.”

“It’s a long story, really.”

Historia hums. “Anyways, what else have you read?”

The dreaded question has been asked. 

Eren continues to walk, smiling politely and trying to recall a title of anything either Armin or Rivaille have ever mentioned, but to no avail. 

The music changes into something lively; the violins striking him with an idea. “Gosh, I just love this song,” he says, cringing at how bad he is at lying. “Would you like to dance?”

Historia takes a hesitant step back, but is polite enough to not pull her hand away. “Are you sure? I mean, I thought you disliked dancing.”

Confused, Eren cocks his head to the side. “How so?”

“May I remind you of the incident at the academy?”

Oh. 

Eren can feel his cheeks warm at the memory of nearly pummeling Jean to a bloody pulp. It hits him that people are weary of him, and he feels a pang of loneliness in his chest. Never had it been his intention to scare anyone, let alone push them away, despite dearly treasuring his personal space.

“I promise I will do nothing of the sort,” he says, and bows. “Your answer?”

Historia chuckles and nods her head. “You sound strange when you speak all proper.”

“Captain Rivaille has been beating it into me for a while already,” he says, straightening up and guiding her to the edge of the dance floor. “Gotta pretend to be an eligible bachelor despite being in the military forces.”

“The woes of society.”

Lifting Historia’s hand, Eren carefully places the other on her mid-back and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He knows he can. Rivaille was the one who taught him how to dance, after all.

Her hand on his shoulder, she takes a slight bow. “After you, Herr Jaeger.”

Eren waits for the music to swell and when it does, he rides it out, melting into the mass of people seamlessly. He has no time to think or hesitate, so he allows himself to flow with the lilting tempo of the song, bringing them both into a spin.

Tension begins to drain away when his confidence increases, finding it easy to guide Historia, almost feather-light.

Her curls sway back and forth, framing her delicate face and making her look positively radiant under the candlelight. It really is no wonder why so many people grow instantly enamored with her. Weren’t he so smitten with the captain, he would be feeling the same.

Historia presses closer to him, making his heart flutter nervously.

“I’ve been considering joining the Reconnoissance Legion once I graduate,” she says, in all seriousness.

Eren gapes most ungentlemanly like. “Why the heck would you even think about that?”

“The same reason you joined, no? I want freedom. I don’t want to be a doll for society.”

Eren snorts. “I’m in the Legion and I’m still here.”

“What’s a ball once or twice a year? Try being a lady of wealth. I’m not looking forward to being forced to soirees every other week.”

“Then join the Garrison; I don’t know. The Legion is too dangerous to be used as an escape.”

They turn, picking up their pace when the song does so.

“You think I’m too delicate to protect myself, don’t you?”

He stares at her, mouth twisting thoughtfully. “That’s not it. Not really.”

“Your captain is petite as well.”

This gets an honest laugh out of him. “Rivaille is short, but under that uniform he’s by no means dainty.”

There’s a hint of silence only interrupted by the music, and it’s when Historia raises a thin eyebrow that Eren realizes what it is he’s said.

“I figured as much,” she says.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“There’s really no need to worry, Eren.” She grins up at him, sheepishly. “You’re not the only person who is like that.”

Eren squints. “Like what?”

“You know,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. She looks ridiculous. “That’s another reason why Ymir and I wish the join the Legion.”

“Ymir, too?”

Historia dips her head. “The two of us, yes.”

“The two of you are…” He lets the sentence drop. 

He intended to claim that the both of them were mad, until he realizes what it is she means. Eren’s mouth forms a tiny ‘o’, which makes her laugh.

“My father wants me to marry a man. I do not wish to marry a man.”

Eren almost forgets that they’re meant to be dancing.

“Wow.”

“All the more reason, in my opinion. Don’t you think so?”

Open and closing his mouth several times, he nods his head, quickly.

“We’re all strange here,” he says, being as honest as possible.

Historia’s laughter is sweeter than anything Eren has ever heard. “That’s reassuring, truly.”

Eren almost returns the smile, but movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. People are moving, their previously hushed tones rising in volume, and the two of them eventually stop. The crowd parts, and walking towards him, he sees, is Rivaille.

Something is off, Eren instantly decides. His clothing is different than the one he had been wearing. This time, he’s embellished himself with tones of red.

The coat he wears hugs his frame perfectly, ending in tails. Golden buttons decorate the front, as well as a golden chain. He’s wearing his harness and sword, and boots that come up to his calves, as opposed to the formal shoes from before. By all means, he looks as fashionable as before, if not more, but now he seems suited for battle.

Even his hair is slightly damp.

When he reaches them, Rivaille offers them a bow. “Lady Reiss,” he says, to which she replies with a low bow. “Forgive my interruption, but I wished to ask if I could have this dance?”

Eren is surprised by how differently Rivaille manages to carry himself in the presence of others. Talking to Historia, his eyes have grown softer, his voice kinder. He carries himself with a hint of humble respect, and Eren is torn between awe and jealousy.

“Don’t pout,” Rivaille says, this time more sternly.

“My apologies, sir.” Eren blinks once, twice, and again when he realizes that his hand isn’t extended towards Historia, but to him. “C-Captain?”

“Well? I believe I asked a question.”

Eren looks to Historia, who gives him a secretive smile and a small nod. “Go on,” she says. “It’s impolite to deny your commanding officer a request.”

He turns back to Rivalle, but then he casts a glance to the room around him.

Most of the people present are wrapped up in their personal bubbles, and the majority of those who had witnessed the interruption have gone back to their own affairs. Only a few look on, curious as to what is going on.

He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself and make people talk. He’s already an outcast, someone looked down upon with scorn. The last thing he wishes is for people to see him dancing with another man.

Silly, really, considering that Sasha is currently spinning Mikasa around by the food table, and nobody is pointing accusing fingers at them. Or maybe they are, but not for that kind of reason. But Eren doesn’t trust his own hormonal impulses. The moment he gets trapped in Rivaille’s eyes, there’s nothing to make him look away.

“Whoever has a problem with it, they can take it up with me,” Rivaille assures him. “Come on.”

“Like practiced?” Eren asks, so hushed it’s a wonder Rivaille can hear him over the music.

“Precisely so.”

He waits several seconds, wanting to debate but finding that he has no grounds to do so. Instead, he finally places his hand in Rivaille’s.

They both bow before each other just as the song changes.

Historia mouths a ‘good luck’ at Eren and hurries out of the dance floor before the music picks up again.

Eren swallows around the knot on his throat, trying to calm his nerves when Rivaille steps close, placing his hand on Eren’s lower back. The position is awkward given their height difference, but they manage; they’ve been practicing for quite a while.

“I thought we couldn’t do this,” Eren says, resting his hand over Rivaille’s shoulder.

“I’ve committed worse crimes than dancing with a subordinate.”

The waltz that begins is slow; a soft and romantic melody that brims with mystery. Rivaille wastes no time in pulling Eren along, guiding him along the lilting tune as it picks up pace, lifting and lifting until it reaches its crescendo.

Rivaille spins them with perfect precision just as the choir begins vocalizing, something Eren hadn’t even noticed.

It’s like dancing through the golden roads of Heaven. A myth in musical form.

The hand on Eren’s back is perfectly still, for the exception of the thumb that rubs calming circles against the expensive fabric of his coat. Rivaille holds his eyes, keeping his attention centered on him and no one else.

Nothing else really matters, Eren decides, because it does feel like a fairytale: the peasant dancing with the prince. Even if neither of them quite fit the roles.

The song slows again, and their movements are like smoke over water.

Eren can feel his confidence return, stepping in time with Rivaille, closing the space between them.

When the orchestra brings it up again, Rivaille takes it up a notch. Spin after perfect spin, they move as one with unparalleled grace. They cover the entirety of the floor, drifting together as if the world and the stars conspired to create this moment in time.

Eren finds himself smiling, engulfed in the rare joy he’s feeling. The satisfaction of being one ignites his fingertips as they dance, and he wishes they could close the distance. He wishes to kiss his captain, regardless of the eyes watching them.

But compared to other dances, this one ends far too soon.

Still, all Rivaille does is shift their tempo, refusing to stop. The previous intensity has dwindled, replaced with an airy look of determination.

Together, they drift towards the outer rim of the floor, away from the louder swells of music.

“That was amazing,” Eren says, ducking his head when he feels his cheeks warm. “It’s so different than dancing in the garden.”

“Atmosphere is often a neglected factor when it comes to training. Personally, I think it’s extremely important.” Rivaille pulls him closer, now that everyone’s attention has been redirected elsewhere. “You did well.”

Eren feels his chest bloom with heat. “Thank you, sir.”

Time falls away from them, leaving behind nothing but music and the glittering room around them.

Eren focuses his attention on the delicate strength in which the gloved hand holds his, in the way Rivaille moves with mesmerizing ease. He stares, unabashed, at the pronounced angles and cuts of his face, his slender mouth, and sharp eyes.

“Don’t give me a reason to regret this choice,” Rivaille says suddenly. The softness of his eyes vanishes into something severe and intimidating. “And don’t interrupt me until I’m done speaking.”

Confused, Eren waits until they go into another spin before nodding his head with some level of apprehension. “All right.”

The hand on his back pulls him closer still, until they’re cheek to cheek. Eren feels sweat gather in his armpits and palms, and he breathes relief at the fact that there’s a layer of clothing keeping them from making direct contact.

“From this moment forth, you are to become my shadow. You will not stray from me, you will not question me.” Rivaille brings his lips dangerously close to the skin just below Eren’s ear. “Make no exercise or experiment, sign no paper, discuss nothing relevant to your condition to absolutely anyone that is not me.”

Eren pulls away slightly, if only to look at him. He doesn’t interrupt.

“I’m afraid things have a taken a turn, although I’m not yet sure if it’s for the best or the worst. Regardless, we must be careful.”

The urgency in his words make Eren’s hair stand on ends. “What’s happened?”

Rivaille gives him a disapproving look but answers anyway. “We were ambushed by other intelligent shifters.”

Eren abruptly stops, but Rivaille jerks him back into their dance without wasting a second.

The room around him swims, colors mixing together into something dark and gruesome that grips around his heart. Mostly, he’s confused, angry, but another feeling struggles inside of his chest. There are _others_ like him.

“Did you…” Eren takes in a deep breath. “Did you know about them?”

“I was under the assumption that you were one of a kind.”

But he’s not. A wave of excitement tickles the base of his spine. “What does this mean in terms of the war?” Eren asks, because, sentimentality aside, he’s still a soldier. “Wait, does this mean the enemy has their own sort of weapon?”

For the longest time, Eren figured they were fighting an enemy driven by hunger and no sense of rationality. What Rivaille is telling him _will_ change the entire course of the war. There are bigger pieces on the board now, not just worthless pawns they can take out without a second’s thought.

The frown Rivaille sports pinches his eyebrows. “Promise me that you will speak of this to no one.”

Eren licks his lips. He’s good and keeping secrets but bad at lying. “Why tell me?”

“No one else will tell you to ready yourself,” he says, simple as sunshine. “I knew you wouldn’t follow me blindly, so I offered you information that might allow you to work with me.”

“I would follow you anywhere, sir, without a second thought,” Eren is quick to say, shoulders tensing as if he were about to salute.

“Yes, but what I’m asking will require a devotion that transcends petty crushes.”

Eren looks away, embarrassed. “It’s not a petty crush…”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I know,” he says. “I know, sir. But tell me, what would require such drastic amounts of dedication?”

Blue-gray eyes dart about, making sure no one is close enough to listen.

“You won’t be happy with this.”

Eren’s grin is sarcastic. “I live in a jail cell underground. What can be worse than Miss Hanji’s poking and prodding?”

The long moment it takes for Rivaille to respond is unsettling. 

He stops dancing so abruptly, Eren nearly falls over but manages to catch himself in time.

Both of his hands slide to Eren’s hips, and he closes the distance between them. Rivaille blows in his ear, and then chuckles. “Follow me,” he says. “And don’t look nervous about it.”

Too late.

“S-Sir?”

“I’m taking you to a more secluded corridor where no one can interrupt us. Talking here won’t do any good.”

Knowing full well that this is serious, Eren feels ashamed at the warm twist in his gut. In fact, this is far more than serious, this is grave, if Rivaille finds himself obligated to discuss it with him, of all people. Which makes it all the more suspicious but Eren isn’t about to complain. He’s tired of being treated like an ignorant kid.

The squeal that escapes his mouth is explicitly excused, because he hadn’t been expecting for Rivaille to squeeze his left butt cheek. “Captain!”

“Hush,” he says, and damn it all to hell, he sounds _playful_. “If you’re going to look nervous, I might as well give you an authentic reason to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eren feels like hitting himself at how high-pitched his voice currently sounds.

Rivaille, damned he be, licks his lips. “I’m thirsty,” he says, but the curl of his words makes Eren fidget. “I wish to have a drink from you.”

They make their way through the crowd, Eren trying very hard to ignore Rivaille’s arm along his back as they do. His hand carefully kneads at Eren’s hip, a finger lazily twirling a thread that has come loose. By all the heavens, Rivaille is acting as if they were a couple, and Eren is ready to crawl under a table and die.

“I don’t understand,” Eren begins, but then gasps when silver blue eyes give him a blank look.

Heartbeat accelerating, he begins to feel faint.

“Needless to say,” Rivaille says, turning them down a set of hallways. “I promise to be gentle.”

“Sir, there is nothing gentle about breaking skin with one’s teeth.”

For the first time ever, Eren hears Rivaille laugh. Nothing too boisterous, just a measured little bark that promises to prove him oh so wrong. “You’ve never been bit by our kind,” he says, “and you most definitely have never been bit by me.” Rivaille hums. “But you have seen others share such an intimate act.”

The way he emphasizes the word _intimate_ makes Eren’s knees tremble.

“If you’re referring to the time Commander--”

In one quick movement, Rivaille has him pinned to a wall, hidden beside a polished suit of armor. 

“Don’t misunderstand. No special bond is ever born from it.” His hand comes to lightly wrap itself around Eren’s throat as he pushes their bodies together. “However, biting is often considered sensual be you chiropter or not.”

It’s very hard to swallow, but this has nothing to do with Rivaille’s hold.

The captain leans against him, and while he is shorter in stature he is no less imposing. His coolness seeps through the layers of their clothing, touching every part of Eren that is burning hot from pent up frustration. Eren gasps when a leg slips in between his thighs and presses up.

“But I’m a lycan,” he tries to reason. The way Rivaille looks at him, as if he were some scrumptious piece of meat, has the part of him under his belt growing hard. “What will happen if you get my scent on you?”

Without mercy, Rivaille grinds his thigh against Eren’s groin.

Forced to slap a hand over his own mouth to keep from crying out, Eren’s head smacks the wall. Fire is licking at his toes, inching its way up his legs and wrapping around his nethers. He knows what it is to be turned on, how it feels to touch himself, but it is far more overwhelming when someone else’s hands are the ones involved.

The hand holding Eren’s throat slides down his chest, gingerly stroking the richness of his clothing. Rivaille twiddles with a button before moving to undo them. “You look handsome when you put effort into your person.” Gloved hands slip inside Eren’s jacket and slide along his waistcoat. “I’m unsure whether I want to take you dressed or in nothing but your skin.”

Lips parting, Eren bucks his hips to get more friction where he wants it. The way Rivaille’s hands feel on him, exploring the dips and niches of his chest and back has him short of breath. He squeaks, embarrassingly, when those hands squeeze his rear.

They came here for something, something important, but Eren is too far gone to ask. Right now, he’s stiff inside his pants and he wants his captain to stroke him like he strokes himself.

Cold lips meet Eren’s jaw. An equally cold nose presses just underneath his ear and when Rivaille hums with satisfaction, he delivers an open-mouthed kiss to Eren’s lips.

Like every other aspect of Rivaille’s demeanor, he kisses with a sense of reason. The kiss is different from their previous ones, but Eren can’t pinpoint why. He keeps his movements in check, calm and collected and perfectly proper.

Their eyes hooded but still open, Eren struggles to return Rivaille’s penetrating stare. His heart is racing, blood pumping faster with every light brush of lips and caress to his back. A hand comes up to Eren’s jaw and angles his head, allowing for a better and more comfortable slot of lips.

Eren tries to put his hands on Rivaille’s waist but is swatted away.

“Hands to your sides,” he commands, kissing a line from Eren’s mouth, jaw, to his neck, where his skin meets with the fabric of his cravat. His thigh continues to push between against his groin. “This will burn at first,” he says between the countless kisses he places over the same spot on Eren’s neck. “But it will start to feel good soon enough. I promise.”

Eren swallows, his pulse rapid. “I trust you.”

Narrowed eyes look to him briefly before returning their attention to the column of his neck. “I refuse to disappoint.” Rivaille loosens the knot of Eren’s cravat.

He is given no time to ready himself.

Rivaille breaks his skin with a crunch, his elongated teeth sliding in until his lips press around the area. Burn is an understatement and Eren shuts his eyes to keep himself from pulling away. The sensation shifts so suddenly that his breath is robbed from him, and what was pain one moment ago turns to pleasure so absolute he fears he will come in his pants from this alone. 

To his dismay, his legs give out from under him, but Rivaille is there to catch him. He uses his body to pin Eren to the wall and keep him there as he drinks.

Each suck and lick feels like a phantom touch to his cock, and Eren is ashamed to admit that he can’t control his whimpering and soft hitches of breath. He’s never wanted anything this much before. He wants Rivaille to touch him, take him apart and break him.

Much sooner than he likes, Rivaille resurfaces with blood mesilly dripping from his mouth. His usually calm facade has cracked, his eyes wild with instinctual hunger as he shamelessly humps Eren’s thigh. “Why?” he asks, but it’s so faint Eren thinks he’s imagined it. 

“S-Sir?”

“I have had the blood of royals and purebreds hand fed to me,” Rivaille slurs, leaning in to run his tongue over the puncture wound. “But damn me if I’ve ever tasted any this sweet.”

Eren blinks down at him and is unable to hold back a shy smile. “That good?”

“Eren, you taste like the nectar of the gods,” Rivaille says, uncharacteristically awed. He slams their mouths together so hard Eren bangs his head against the wall. “I’ll have you in my chamber every night, just filling myself until I can’t drink any more.” His words are rushed despite their growl.

Eren yelps, not expecting Rivaille to bite through his bottom lip and suck.

“I’ll sate your hunger if you sate my thirst,” he says, lapping at Eren’s mouth like a kitten. “I’ve serviced every king and queen under the godforsaken sun and moon, I’ve fucked on horses and stables and on thrones--”

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupts him and Eren is torn between relief, blinding rage, and soul-crippling humiliation.

Rivaille’s pulls away from him, and if it weren’t for the hand on his chest pushing him against the wall, Eren would have rioted. But as it is, he has been too wrapped up living the experience of an actually involved captain to notice the new sets of eyes now looking at them.

Heat explodes under the skin of Eren’s face. He wants to crawl under a boulder, lock himself in his cell and never come out.

“Yes?” the captain says, crisp and clear, as if he hadn’t been about two seconds away of masturbating to the taste of Eren’s blood.

Eren recognizes one of the two men as the commander of the Royal Police. His jaw is clenched and his mouth is downturned with a look of extreme repulsion. “Bloodletting is unlawful where humans may be attending,” he says. “So is humping like animals in heat.”

The other man says nothing. Eren recognizes him as the one that had been staring at him in the main hall. The feeling is there again; he can swear he’s seen him somewhere before. There is something about the way he slumps, about his silhouette that bothers him. 

Regardless, neither man should be seeing his and Rivaille’s indiscretion.

“Which is why I chose a restricted corridor,” Rivaille says, pulling a satin kerchief from the pocket of his jacket. “No one was meant to interrupt us.”

“If you insist on this, Captain, I recommend getting a room.” Nile tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral, but fails.

It occurs to Eren that their disgust doesn’t come because they’re both men, but because a chiropter is drinking from the veins of a lycan.

“I can do what I damn well please,” he says, challenging the man. “If it bothers you so much, then make certain that no one else walks through here. I despise being interrupted.”

Rivaille knows his status full well. He may hold a lesser rank, but his importance trumps any kind of exterior irritation. However, it’s rare of him to flaunt this.

Nile scoffs. “I apologize that you have been exposed to such... filth,” Nile tells the man he’s with. “Let’s take this to the gardens, then.”

The man gives Nile a nod and follows him in the direction of the main hall, but not before leveling Eren with a look that is impossible to read.

Unease settles in his stomach, the familiarity tasting like acid on his tongue.

Worse yet is the fact that Rivaille is fully pulling away, wiping his mouth clean. “Pull yourself together,” he says, looking down the corridor until they’re alone again. “I can assure you we’ll no longer be spied on for the remainder of the evening.”

Eren blinks dumbly when a clean cloth is thrown his way. “But, weren’t we in… uh, the middle of something?”

A thin eyebrow lifts. “Control your hormones, Eren. You know full well the reason why I brought you here.”

Eren gawks when the pieces click into place, indignation lighting a fire in him. “You… that was… that was just a rous?!”

“Stop yelling,” Rivaille says, giving Eren an intimidating glare. “By now more than half of the Royal Police think we’re fucking and won’t bother to send anyone to keep an eye on us.”

“But you bit me!”

“So?” Rivaille crosses his arms, looking unperturbed despite having just dry-humped a shifter. “I also kissed you. Consider it recompense for your troubles.”

“My troub…” Eren cuts off, pushing off the wall and closing the distance. He hovers over Rivaille with a glare. “Sir, I’m,” he starts and his mouth moves but nothing really comes out. He can’t voice his frustration. “I’m… I’m honestly harder than I’ve ever been before.” The words are quick and jumbled together, too embarrassed to say them too clearly.

Rivaille remains uncaring. “That’s none of my concern.”

“I’m sure Erwin would have no qualms in taking care of me.” 

Eren regrets the words the moment they’re out his mouth.

“Eren,” he says, sarcastic adoration decorating the name. “I’m starting to believe that you want him more than you want me. Since I’m such a good person, perhaps I should have a word with him.” God help him, Rivaille _smiles_. “He will _eat_ you without blinking those pretty blue eyes of his. He could never treat you like I do.”

“And how’s that? Spurring me on and then leaving me to stand there? He wouldn’t be afraid to take what he wants.” Either bravery or stupidity, Eren has no idea what to call the ugly feeling in his chest.

“Purebloods are children who get off on breaking their toys because they have no parents to answer to. It’s not me I fear for, Eren.” Rivaille turns away, starts walking in the opposite direction of the ballroom. “Everything I do is to serve my kind. I seek no personal gain in this.”

“I’m not a spoil of war, sir.”

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what you are.”

“But--”

Turning around, Rivaille faces him with surprisingly bare eyes. “Don’t forget what you are. You are a weapon and it is my duty to see to it that you’re fit to aid us on our mission. There can be no emotional attachment whatsoever.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?” Eren says softly, ducking his head yet keeping his eyes on his captain.

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’m not stupid, sir. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“Don’t ever confuse lust for love, boy. Learn the difference and it will save you plenty of headaches.”

Eren is aware that he’s pushing his luck, but he can’t help it. Even if there is a strict line of authority and respect, he feels like he can speak to this man as an equal. 

“I really don’t know the difference, Captain. Growing up in that place didn’t really give me many chances to experience these things but…” He scratches his arm. “I know that I want to kiss you, that I want you to want to kiss me, too.” Cheeks burning, Eren looks away. “I don’t know what that feeling is called, but I want you to touch me like I touch myself. How Commander Smith touches you.”

“Shut up.”

“This war has been going on for ages. The world won’t crumble because you take an hour or so for yourself.”

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“I’m not scared of you.” He feels that it’s important to say this. “I respect you because you are my superior, but I don’t fear you.”

“I can crush you with a mere thought.”

“And a lycanthrope can come right in and separate my head from my body,” Eren says, agitating his arms in his exasperation. “I want to live before I die and I have a feeling you do, too, Rivaille.”

Silence.

A shadow passes over Rivaille’s eyes, and Eren fears that he may have said something incorrigible. 

All he wants is to learn his captain’s thoughts, if there are any dreams left trapped on such a battle-worn individual. Eren wants to fix things he didn’t break, to share a breath of happiness, however brief, with the man that sets his heart alight. Eren wants to dispel that hopelessness that comes in his nightmares, to belong to someone other than his adopted family.

The only thing Eren can see is a storm hidden underneath an emotionless face. Truly, Rivaille’s heart is reflected in his eyes, in tiny little shifts and twitches that are difficult but not impossible to read.

“Come here,” Rivaille says. His face remains unreadable, and Eren fears that he’s only pissed him off. 

Breathing in deep, he obeys, placing his hands behind his back in a properly casual salute. Eren keeps his eyes trained on a spot above Rivaille’s head, ready for the consequences of his insubordination.

“Don’t turn your eyes from me, now.”

Eren looks at him, clenching his fists. “My apologies, Captain.”

Silver blue eyes hold his gaze. “You’ve given me more trouble than I was promised.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, it’s irritating.” Eren nods his head. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“If you’re so hellbent on destroying centuries’ worth of defenses then you will have to deal with the consequences, Jaeger. I said to kiss my fucking mouth before I change my mind.”

Of course, he hesitates. This wouldn’t be the first time Rivaille falsely edges him on but the brutal honesty in his command is something Eren has never experienced before. It can’t really be this easy, can it?

Still, Eren doesn’t waste a minute.

He closes the distance, capturing Rivaille’s mouth with his in a kiss that begins slow and awkward but gradually increases in urgency. Rivaille clings to his jacket, pulling him down while he presses up, pushing his tongue past Eren’s lips.

Then, it’s nothing but tongues and too-sharp teeth that nip at the most fortunate of times.

Rivaille pulls away long enough to press a kiss to the wound on Eren’s neck, bringing him agonizingly close. There’s something he wants to say but he keeps hesitating, closing his mouth whenever he gathers enough valor to open it.

It’s precious to see that not even Rivaille is perfect when it comes to these matters. He can fake confidence when the situation calls for it but, stripped bare of his veneer of impassiveness, he’s no better than Eren.

“Touch me.”

Two words. That’s all it takes to render Eren hopeless..

“H-Here?”

Rivaille shakes his head and takes Eren’s hand. “There should be a chamber close by,” he says, stroking the back of Eren’s hand with his thumb as they walk through the dark. “The staff would have cleaned it before the guest arrived.”

“Why would they? It’s not like anyone’s allowed back here.”

“Some of us need a break every now and then.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Truly,” Rivaille says with a chuckle. “It would be terrible if I have to take you where someone else can see.”

Eren shivers, hoping that this isn’t another one of his captain’s cruel jokes.


End file.
